#ok im gonna go write this now bye
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
yk when i thought earlier “i wanna draw sanegiyuu” this wasnt what i was thinking. but ok. (click for better quality)
(can you see the low effort in giyuu.. 💀)
#my hand slipped i swear#kny#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#gay#giyuu tomioka#sanemi shinazugawa#sanegiyuu#giyuusane#giyuu x sanemi#sanemi x giyuu#gays#artwork#my art#art#digital artwork#arfhsiifkf idk tbh#idk anymore 😭#kny sanemi#kny giyuu#kny sanegiyuu#sngy#lgbtq#fanart#kny fanart#sanemi fanart#giyuu fanart#i hold so much power#ok im gonna go write this now bye
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
kicking my feet and giggling thinking about eddie diaz who loves fatherhood and christopher and who is so brave and smart and kind and funny. eddie who loves his female friends and relatives and has interesting, developed relationships with carla and may and pepa and linda and hen. eddie who loves basketball and fighting and muay thai and video games. eddie who befriends anything that moves. eddie whose people skills save the day over and over - the kid in the well. the kid he got shot for. the kid he ran back into a burning building for when they read the number wrong. (eddie who loves kids). the guy whose heart he kept beating despite him threatening chris and buck and his whole family. the guy he talked into returning their engine. eddie who is so competent it has buck ripping his hair out when they meet. eddie who is cool and level headed with a gun to his head. eddie who got himself and his son out of his parents house when he was working three jobs to make ends meet. eddie whose whole Thing is taking care of people, so much so that his therapist has to tell him to cool his jets. eddie who just tries and tries and tries. eddie with the heart of fucking gold and eddie with more to give than he thinks anyone can take. eddie who is always going to fight to come home to his family. eddie who isn't alone anymore; hasn't been for a while. eddie who was raised so cold and grew up so warm. eddie, the light. the sun.
#IM DONE NOW. THANKS.#eddie diaz#911 abc#favourite eds ever#team screams#i added some more ok i love to yap. leave me alone.#now im gonna go write my midterm 👍 bye#inspired by hima's post see below
49 notes
·
View notes
Note
what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]
a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious
i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me
as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy
#snap chats#may you forgive me anon i always feel awkward explaining things AVELKJEAKLJ#i feel esp awkward cause i haven't read toooo much of the comics yet- like ive read. an ok amount so far krakoa wise#can you guys tell im fighting god himself to Not write a fuckin. NOVEL#im so sorry i have an over-explaining problem my mom was mean to me growing up but anyways#i definitely want to read more and more outside krakoa. the more i read the more im fascinated by these two and their history#but to continue my prattling. as if the three paragraphs above arent enough This Is Not A Thesis RELAX#i think a. 'poignant' moment i think adds to what i like about charles too is that soliloquy where he recognizes people dont like him#yet he could always be worse- like if he's bad now to others imagine if he really just said Fuck It All#it's simple but so am i whaddyagonnadoboutit. i mean that point itself could be discussed but i'm trying to keep this brief bear with me#i so bad want to know what issue that's from tho all i know is that it's from krakoa but i neeeed the whole context#i think like. an additional bullet point to charles i also like is his loneliness#and i say this cause- I Say From My Amateur-Psychology Armchair- it's a component of why he's so earnest to help#but im keeping this point in the tags until i can confidently verify that with myself after some more reading#Unfortunately a favorite pass time of mine is psychoanalyzing characters like why else you think i major in psychology smh#im going to force myself to cap the post here because i ended up typing like 20 more tags just rambling#and as i said id like to keep this simple and clean !!!!! i have sat here for like four hours answering this ngl#ignore the fact half that time was spent getting distracted by solitaire and riffling cards ok I Am Very Easily Distracted#but fr when it comes to charles and erik- charles esp imo#i feel like i need to write a whole paper just so i can mention the nuances of the characters and like. EVERYTHING#because again six decades is A Lot of time for writing decisions to be made and for their characters to change over time#im a glazer but i wanna be a nuanced glazer yk. is that glazing at that point-- w/e anyway#its a lot. so today you will have to tolerate a very Blah answer from me which i must apologize for#down the line once ive read a comfortable amount more varying from multiple eras maybe ill revisit this question more in depth#as of right now tho .... chat i wanna get legion of x so bad i skimmed it and hhhhhhhhim gonna throw UP#i need to shake charles like a ragdoll BUT ANYWAY. bye bye for now lovelies !!!!!!!#please forgive me if i didnt answer your question efficiently ..#here i am saying i wanted to keep the tag count brief and yet !!! jesus christ. shut up My God I REACHED THE TAG LIMIT
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
the picnic table scene
#this isnt going to make sense to literally any of you for a long time and im sorry about that#but FUCK was i writing this morning#man. man man man man Man the motivation Hit#this fic might get done after all...#i need. to go sleep. OUASGAHSAKJSNCADCLSKDVMS;#THEY MAKE ME INSANE THEY MAKE ME INSANE#YALL ALREADY KNOW WHO IM TALKING ABOUT#THEY MAKE ME CRAZY AGH AGH AGH#ok. ok. ill sleep. and we'll see if the scene holds up when my brain is Refreshed#absolutely unprompted#throwing myself to the ground and howling#who do i need to BITE#oh 7 am me we're really in it now#literally getting myself too worked up. im. Emotional. i almost feel like tearing up#if that was something i could do lmao#fortunately crying does not come easily to me but in my heart im like. idk. Sobbing#anyway in order to calm down im gonna go think about something that makes me equally insane#which is the OG reason i designed a butterfly look for howdy. yass!howdy's origins <3#slamming my face through drywall ok bye im off to crazyville where i can catch a layover to sleepytown
118 notes
·
View notes
Text
#rgg#ryu ga gotoku#ryu ga gotoku 7#yakuza series#yakuza like a dragon#yakuza 7#masumi arakawa#snap sketches#i underutilize drawing arakawa as the prettiest girl ever and i will go to prison to atone for my crimes for this#Awful i thought of a fic while making sketches LMAOOOO lets see if i do it cause i still have another one cooking#i also have a teeny goofy comic but idk if im gonna finish it#if i do im gonna revise it first since i dont like its pacing and whatnot rn but anyways bye#im gonna stare at google docs#shout to my Not-Kayla friend because i bumped into her during dinner tonight#and i told her i needed to pick up rice so we hop to the store and i ALMOST missed the last two bags. i almost did.#wouldve had to go a week without rice... unthinkable.#i mean the bags wont get me through the week but they'll be enough for a couple days LMAO#ok bye now heres to hoping i can write
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
[The Main Crew] [The Villains] [Landlubbers]
Maybe you're simply just curious and want to check it out, maybe you're looking for something specific, or maybe you're a Norwegian looking for nostalgia. Does it matter, not really. Here are the links:
[Updated 7.06.24]
Let's start off simple with the music
This is my Kaptein Sabeltann playlist, it has all the songs available on Spotify right now, in the best quality I could find, semi-sorted from most to least popular (so i recommend turning off shuffle). This is a simple starting point and I recommend you check out the music first. Especially if you want a quick and simple way to see what the deal is about without looking at any of the other media.
Kaptein Sabeltann's official YouTube is also a great place to start since it's available worldwide. Lots of music videos filmed directly from the stage, as well as Kaptein Sabeltanns Sjørøverfest at Chat Noir in Oslo and Drømmen om Sabeltanns rike (They're cheap even for Sabeltann standards, but they're there if you want them.)
The main 3 shows (filmed in the early 2000s directly from the stage) are available on NRK TV for free, but you're going to need a VPN to get access (NB: I haven't tested this myself so it might not work). They also have the first ever Kaptein Sabeltann show that kicked the entire thing off, and that show should be available worldwide. And the follow up to the original show, Hemmeligheten i Kjuttaviga, is on archive dot org
The official viewing order is as follows (the main canon shows are highlighted in bold): Skatten i Kjuttaviga, Hemmeligheten i Kjuttaviga, Grusomme Gabriel's Skatt, Den Forheksede Øya, Jakten på den Magiske Diamant.
NRK TV also has the entire Kaptein Sabeltann TV-Show (14 minutes per episode + 26 episodes). It's a prequel to the main shows and follows Pinky in Abra Havn, but it's not required to watch first. (You're also gonna need a VPN for this one too if you're not in Norway.)
If you don't speak Norwegian, good news! 3 Kaptein Sabeltann movies have all been dubbed into English as well as many other languages: Kaptein Sabeltann (2003) (Animated), Kaptein Sabeltann og skatten i Lama Rama (2014) (Live Action) and Kaptein Sabeltann og den magiske diamant (2019) (Animated). I've linked to their IMDB pages in case you want to find them in your language. I don't have links directly to the movies, you may have to go the route of Kaptein Sabeltann to watch them hint hint cough cough 🏴☠️
#kaptein sabeltann#i have to specify before anyone jumps head first into the movies. the 2003 movie and the live show 'Grusomme Gabriels skatt"#are basically the same plot. just be prepared for that if you decide to watch both#magiske diamant is of course an adaptation of jakten på den magiske diamant. but loosely. very loosely. barely at all#and lama rama is completely original#AND the franchise got a soft reboot in the 2000s when Skatten and Hemmeligheten i Kjuttaviga got combined into Grusomme Gabriels Skatt#ok that's all im gonna go write the other posts now bye bye#look a talking muffin
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
The dual destinies soundtrack goes Sooo fucking crazy im losing my mind how is it this good
#just finished the last case ahhh!!!!!!#i was playing and going like hm i like this but its such a different tonal shift from aa4 i wish theyd made it a bit darker too#and then the last case i was like ah 😀 nevermind#SUCH A GOOD FUCKING GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!#can naawt fucking WAIT to play spirit of justice#both apollo and athena's characters have grown on me so much aahg :'')#ALSO WRIGHTWORTH LIVES 4EVERRRRRR!!!!🔥🔥🔥🔥#loved the space lesbians too god bless#ALSO finally simon blackquill's character makes 2 me now i was so annoyed by how little backstory he had the whole time#but it all fell into place in the end although there were definitely cases i liked more than others#im just rambling now whoops its been so long since ive gotten into something this heavily#im gonna get medicated and write so much fucking fanfiction grahhhhh !!!!!#OK anyways. 4am. going to bed. goodbye . to whoever read all this im kissing you passionately under the soft moonlight &#& I LOVE U. BYE 👋#ace attorney
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
I have to ask WHY on earth did they turn Flannery into a goldfish??? What did he do to them to make them want to Literally Curse Him??
man. thats a good question. let's see if i have an answer JFKLDSKFLJDS
i'll be real a lot of it was me kinda winging it improv style - i should probs clarify [im not sure how clear i am on artfight lol] that moooost of my non twst characters are like, from a roleplay thing my friend and i do in google docs together kfdsjfl so thats where flannerys from. and then sometimes, plotlines and characters stem from an idea on a whim - like originally i had an idea for flannery to be a lost prince that was turned into a fish by like, enemy hitmen or sometihing.
and tbh that makes more sense than family betrayal LOL but i thiiiiiiiiiink i swapped it to son of a politician and also an influencer [cries lol] because it fit the 'modern au' better. modern fantasy. whatever. also we do have a separate au googledoc universe that IS royalty themed so maybe one day he will be a missing prince there teehee
ok anyway sorry i havent answered your actual question i got distracted lol. so aside from half of it being me coming up with shit on the fly and being kind of bad at storytelling klsjfkdshf the IN UNIVERSE ANSWER is like, flannery kinda just doesnt have a good relationship with his family - his parents suck and flannerys not a "useful asset" and is also the product of infidelity. so it's like, he's not going to be a powerful politician or business guy, he's not good on camera, and also theres this unspoken secret of him being someone else's son <- i think my idea here was like, the father is Aware his wife was having an affair and that flannery isnt his kid but neither of them have Spoken Of It because blah blah keeping up appearances a divorce would be a scandal whatever. you know how it is with traditional family values 😒
and i think i have also just watched a lot of youtube videos covering family vlogger scandals/ also just regular vlogger scandals, and sometimes that shits just wild LOL so i was like ok. politician dad doesnt like or care about this kid, vlogger mom sees his disappearance as months worth of content to milk lol. so they hired someone to Get Rid Of Him - i cant remember if they... planned the fish part. maybe. i guess so? the plan tho was just have him turned into a fish that would probably get eaten and act like he got kidnapped or ran away and then announce hes dead later.
flannery's got an older brother that shows up at his school and is like, a clone of their mom, in that hes like "omg theres this GUY HERE who is PRETENDING to be my DEAD BROTHER i need to live stream this." and then something something their relation was proved and he pivoted immediately to "oh wowwww my poor sweet brother i cant BELIEVE our parents tried to cover you up like this wow i missed u so much let's be besties [lie]"
so anyway. there kind of isnt that a good reason besides drama + theyre in a magical setting and i thought it was fun LOL. flannery's one of my much newer characters so i havent had a lot of time to fully flesh out his character yet. he's a lil one note right now and i need to figure him out a bit more to make him,,,, actually interesting,,, but. 🫡
#asks#sorry u asked me a question and i spit out like 8 paragraphs of not really answering kfjdsfklJKDFJKLSDJG#oc: flannery#me opening my inbox: oh man true why DID they do that. bc they suck i guess. KLFJSKLDJFDKLSJF#SORRY i know it's not that exciting and it's kind of cliche as hell#but i am goofing in my sand box and also throwing things at the wall til i find what sticks#fallon [the brother] is a whole other thing he showed up and is just So Annoying and loves to lie lol#theres also this other guy nazari who is like. well not their childhood friend but he knows them both bc their dads used to work together#fallon and flannerys dad was nazaris dads work rival or some shit and got him fired <- i do NOT have details on that i keep it vague#On PURPOSE lol anyway now nazaris like well. i want revenge. im going to kidnap flannery. arent you supposed to be dead#he was like ok the family is acting like hes dead but clearly he is At My School and Not Dead im gonna kidnap him for ransom money or w/e#i cant really remember what his full plan was bc that plan got derailed by other characters klsdfjdsjlfj#but also fallons in love with him. i think my secret plotline for them in the royalty au is that nazari and flannery are arranged marriage#princes or some shit idk that hasnt happened yet i just drew something one(1) time#listen i turn everything into a soap opera. fanfiction. google docs roleplay#originally these google docs were like our pseudo dnd with rolls and stuff but then they just became mostly roleplay oc story time LOL#sometimes characters have college parties other times they discover they are a demigod. u know how it is.#ok sorry i dont think anyones gonna read all this i just love to ramble to myself lol#'sorry the reply was so long' [writes just as much in the tags doubling the length of the reply] OOPS OOPS OOPS SORRY BYE
1 note
·
View note
Text
just found a piece of fanart i did of yuri ddlc from 2018 and im so mad i stopped drawing in 2020. the art does not look bad WHY DID I GET ADDICTED TO GACHA GAMES IT RUINED EVERYTHING
#i also found some old youtube screenshots like when techno changed the video title of his vid w s.keppy#anyway. whatever i should practice drawing again#ive been doing it more recenetly but need to be more consistant#i also found some writing i did in 2019 too#at least with that i can say ive improved lol#just. UUURGHHG WHY DID STOP DRAWING PAST ME!!!!!!! THE FUTURE ARTHRITIS FROM SEKAI WAS NOT WORTH IT!!!!!!!#AT LEAST LET ME GET IT FROM DRAWING INSTEAD!!!!!!!!!!#WHATEVER IM GONNA GO DRAW NOW UUTUGHHG#oh oh one more thing. found alot of downloaded coffeeships fanart. nothing has changed really#i still love all them they changed my life#ok now fr bye#my posts
0 notes
Text
i’ve not slept in many hours :/
#i want to!#cannot#:(#not going to school today bc i dont think driving would be the best idea#so im gonna eat soemthing once everyone leaves the house then im gonna fucking. try to sleep the whole time i guess#i did get a few more fics written though! planning on writing a bit more before i eat jsut so i can get a few more days done#but idk if ill actually write anything#ok. imgonna try to sleep on emore time bc. sleey#bye now <<2#em rambles
1 note
·
View note
Text
WE SUFFOCATED OUR LOVE
a random number starts texting you and you decide to text back
Or, the bassist of your favourite band accidentally messages you and u fall in love
inspired by this fic 😆 and my fav band the driver era
band!au, no quirks, text form, eventual romance
————————————————————————-
September 18th
10:37 pm
Unknown: Ask Shiggy to grab me a monster on his way back
You: a monster?? are u 12…
Unknown: Shut up and ask
You: sorry I think you have the wrong number
Unknown: No I don’t
You: lowkey u do..
You: r u trying to hack me
Unknown: You’re still texting me so u would probably fall for it
You: okay ur still textjng me genius
Unknown: Texting*
You: Shut up.
You: okay don’t actually shut up
Unknown: Thought I was a hacker
You: maybe I wanna be hacked
Unknown: Is this flirting
You: maybe
You: r u really sexy
Unknown: Extremely
You: 😍 feeling bashful rn
You: why r u drinking monsters anyways
You: Wait am i actually messaging a 12 yr old
September 19th
4:03 am
Unknown: I’m not 12 years old
Unknown: I’m 24
Unknown: And i drink monsters for energy
Unknown: And because they r yummy
Unknown: And cheap
You: omfg you don’t need a separate text for every word
Unknown: Oh
Unknown: Didn’t think you’d be awake so late
You: well I wasn’t but SOMEONE is messaging me at 4am
You: also I’m 24 2
Unknown: Didn’t ask
You: kys
Unknown: Ok bye
You: pussy
You: why are u even awake so late
Unknown: I’m writing
You: omg 😳 are u an author
Unknown: Lol no
Unknown: I write music
You: OMG
You: even better
You: what do u play
Unknown: Bass
Unknown: And I sing kinda
You: kinda?
Unknown: I sing backup mainly
Unknown: Or lead if I’m feeling extra generous
You: generous?
Unknown: To please all my loving woman fans ofc 😫
You: EWW TF
You: DONT EVER USE EMOJIS AGAIN BRUH 😭
Unknown: 😭💔.
You: literally throwing up alllllxover my room
Unknown: Weirdo
Unknown: Go to sleep
You: don’t tell me what to do 🙄
Unknown: Okay don’t sleep
You: lowkey have to I have uni tomorrow
Unknown: Loser
You: shush
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
September 19th
8:47 am
You: FUCK YOU
September 19th
2:30 pm
Unknown: Meanie 😢
You: i overslept because of you
Unknown: Were you up all night thinking about me
You: i dont eben know ur name
Unknown: Dabi
You: oh ur sooooo emo and edgy
Dabi: Shut up
You: nobody... understands you😕⛓️🥀
Dabi: You gonna tell me ur name or what
You: Y/N
Dabi: Pretty name
You: dont stalk me plz
Dabi: No promises
————————————————————————
September 28th
10:02 pm
You: so if u dont go uni what do you do
Dabi: I told you i write music
Dabi: Am also in a band
You: wait are u like
You: successful
You: like do u make money from it
Dabi: Well yes
Dabi: Its my job
You: wait thats kinda cool
Dabi: 😎
You: take it back so fast
You: do u stream ur music on like spotify
You: let me listen
You: whats ur band called
Dabi: No
You: mid name but i will look it up
Dabi: I dont wanna tell you
Dabi: Not right now at least
You: r u like super famous
You: am i messaging harry styles rn
Dabi: Im sorry i kept this from u for so long
You: is 1D cming back
You: plz
Dabi: Never
Dabi: Narry ruined us😔
You: HAHAH
You: HWO DO U KNOW WHAT TAHT IS
Dabi: I have a sister
Dabi: But seriously I'll tell you one day
You: how do ik ur not lying about ur music 🤔
Dabi: [image attachment]
September 28th
10:13pm
You: MINABHABHAE
You: LOOK
You: OMFG
You: [image attachment]
You: HIS HAND IS ALL TATTED UP AND SEXY
You: AND THAT BASS
You: just creamed my pants
Mina: GIRL
Mina: you dont even know what he looks like
Mina: he does have sexy hands tho
You: sexy hands = sexy face
You: its litch science
Mina: ur so whipped and its been a week
You: uhm
You: ten days actually
Mina: ur not right in the head
September 28th
10:22 pm
Dabi: Did my incredible bass shock u to silence
You: i literally collapsed when i saw it
You: i like the blue
You: also ur tattoos are cool
Dabi: Thanks babe
You: mhm
You: yh
You: did they hurt
You: when u got them done
Dabi: Nah they werent too bad
Dabi: Worst was probs the ones on my chest
You: r u like alll tatted up
Dabi: I am
Dabi: That okay?
You: mhm
You: very cool
You: i want a tatto but im lowkey scared like
You: what if it hurts
Dabi: Ill get one with you
Dabi: Ill talk you through it
Dabi: Distract you from the pain
You: mhm
You: yes
You: very good
You: my roomates calling me ttylxox
September 28th
10:30pm
You: [screenshot]
You: hes SOO FLIRTING RIGHT
Mina: oh babe this reads like a porno
You: DFHBAJHF
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
October 11th
8:37 pm
You: [link attachment]
You: listen to this song
You: LOV is the best band eva
Dabi: LOL
You: WHAT
You: its so good its my fav band
You: im seeing them next month
Dabi: Really
You: r u jelly
Dabi: Very
Dabi: If only i could be there
You: i think theres still tickets for sale if u acc wanna come
Dabi: You tryna see me in person?
You: mayhaps
You: ur just so mysterious
You: what if ur actually like a pedo
Dabi: The fuck
Dabi: I’m no pedo
You: okay cool
You: you can come to the concert then
Dabi: Seriously?
October 11th
8:47pm
You: MINA
You: PLEASE
You: [screenshot attachment]
You: SHALL I SAY YEA
Mina: UHM
Mina: YES
Mina: concerts are public so if he’s actually a creep you’ll be safe
You: OKAY
October 11th
8:50pm
You: okay omg
You: shall we actually do this
Dabi: Yeah
Dabi: You got another month to figure out if I’m a pedo
You: now I deffo think you’re one
—————————————————————————
October 17th
6:45 pm
Dabi: Does this sound good
Dabi: [audio message]
You: WOAH
You: that sounds really good
You: is that u talking at the end
Dabi: Yeah my roommate walked in
You: ur voice is so deep
Dabi: Sexy right
You: gosh so modest too
Dabi: I’m working on a new song but I can’t tell if I like that riff
You: u should like it
You: it’s very good
Dabi: Thanks babe
You: soooooo
You: can u show me ur band now 😁
Dabi: No 😁
You: 🤬
—————————————————————————
October 21st
8:33pm
You: what would u do if we meet irl and IM actually famous
You: like u pull up to the concert and I’m there but I’m actually like Jojo siwa or something
Dabi: I’d be a bit disappointed
You: u don’t fw jojo??
Dabi: No but she’s gay and I’d hope all my flirting was being put to good use here
You: hardee har
————————————————————————
October 25th
6:45pm
You: I’m supposed to be studying but
You: I can’t stop thinking if halloweeen😝
Dabi: You going trick or treating?
You: i wish
You: unfortunately too old for that now
Dabi: Loser
Dabi: My little brothers 11 so I get to do it with him
Dabi: But I gotta act cool like I don’t wanna do it
You: IM SO JELLY
You: can I borrow ur little brother on the 31st of October plz
Dabi: No weirdo
You: sigh
You: I’m going to a party at least
Dabi: Oh yeah
Dabi: What are u dressing up as
You: me and my friend are going as monster high girls 😁😁😁
You: shes draculaura and I’m clawdeen 😜
Dabi: Sick
Dabi: U have to show me when you do it
You: gosh ur so obsessed with me
You: but okay
—————————————————————————
October 28th
7:00pm
You: [image attachment]
You: the fit is ready
Dabi: Why aren’t u wearing it
You: im gonnna do the full reveal ON halloween
Dabi: Sigh fine
You: what are you wearing punk
Dabi: Punk 😭
You: LOL
Dabi: U can’t laugh
You: okay…
Dabi: You know that show curious George
You: HAHAHA
You: R U FONNA BE THE YELLOW HAT MAN
Dabi: You said u wouldn’t laugh 😔
You: NO ITS SO CUTE
Dabi: I got him a little monkey onesie
You: AWWW
You: THATS SO CUTE
October 28th
7:10 pm
You: [screenshot attachment]
You: when he’s a good older brother 😍😍❤️😝
Mina: okay bare minimum 😍😍😍
You: SHUT UP
—————————————————————————-
October 31st
6:00 pm
Dabi: [image attachment]
Dabi: Ur favourite childhood father figure
You: OMG
You: U GUYS LOOK SO GOOD
You: crazy how ur face is covered🙄
Dabi: You love the thrill of the mystery
Dabi: Let’s see ur costume
You: my party starts at like nine bruh 😭
You: im in bed watching movies
Dabi: Loser
Dabi: Imagine not trick or treating
You: u suck so much
Dabi: Ofc I do 😋
You: VOMIT 🤢
October 31st
6:07pm
You: [image attachment]
You: Mina.
You: look at his ARMS IN THAT SUIT
Mina: it’s bright yellow
You: HES CURIOUS GEORGE MAN
You: his little brothers the monkey
Mina: WAIT WHY IS THAT KINDA CUTE
You: IK
Mina: and he does look sexy in that button up
You: the tattoos🤤
Mina: love a man with a dark past 😍
You: god im so scared to see him
You: the concerts on the 10th
Mina: you’ll be okay babe Dw
October 31st
8:30pm
You: [image attachment]
You: it’s…. A full moon.. I feel myself… changing 🐺
Dabi: Woah
Dabi: You look hot
You: omg
You: thank u
Dabi: You’re pretty too
Dabi: R u wearing that to the concert
You: LOL NO
You: I haven’t decided yet
Dabi: U have to show me
Dabi: So I can find you
You: and how am I gonna find you
Dabi: You’ll find me
November 3rd
7:02pm
Dabi: [audio attachment]
Dabi: Listen please 😄
Dabi: What do you think
You: why r u acc good at this
You: I LOVE
You: yk it kinda sounds like LOV
You: I think you’ll like their music
Dabi: Girl I listen to them
You: GIRL???
You: sassy man apocalypse is alive and well
Dabi: Whos ur favourite band member
You: hmmmm
You: I like the drummer
You: himiko she’s so cute
You: but the bassist 🤤🤤🤤
You: Touya
You: need him in ways I can’t articulate over message 😳
You: uhm where did u go
You: did my thirsting freak u out
Dabi: No ur good
Dabi: I thought you’d like the guitarist
Dabi: Shiggy
Dabi: Every girl is obsessed with him
You: yeah but Touya is all emo kinda
You: I love it
November 8th
9:00pm
You: [image attachment]
You: fit check for the concert😜
Dabi: I love it
Dabi: Very Blue
Dabi: That’s my fav colour
You: that’s why I’m wearing it??
Dabi: Blushing rn 🤭
You: HAHA
November 10th
6:30 pm
You: On my way! now
You: tf
Dabi: Can’t wait to see you!
You: LOL SHUSH
You: im nervous
Dabi: Don’t be
Dabi: Im excited to see you
You: me too 😆
November 10th
6:50pm
Mina: be careful plz
Mina: there’s loads of people around but still
Mina: he could be a freak in disguise
You: I know babe Dw dw
You: I’ll keep u updated
Mina: good
Mina: r u gonna give him a biggggg fat smooch 🤤
You: SHUT UP
November 7th
7:00pm
You: are you here?
Dabi: Yeah
You: omg
You: im scared
Dabi: Lowkey same
Dabi: But im so manly and strong so im actually not scared
You: LOL
Dabi: Okay wait
Dabi: I need to tell you smth
You: is this u telling me the pedo allegations r true….
Dabi: Before we meet u need to know
You: yeah what’s up?
Dabi: Idk how to say this without u thinking I’m lying but
Dabi: I’m Touya
You: uh
You: what 😅
Dabi: I just didn’t wanna tell you because I thought you might like
Dabi: Idk people r so weird about it when they find out
Dabi: And I didn’t want you to just talk to me because of that
Dabi: Especially when I found out u listen to our music
Dabi: I’m sorry I never told u
Dabi: Y/N? You there?
You: yeah I just
You: slightly confused
You: idk how to tell if ur lying or not
Dabi: [image attachment]
Dabi: Theres the face reveal you’ve been after
You: what the sigma
You: okay
You: woah
You: so I’ve actually been dming a celebrity
Dabi: You prefer me or Harry styles
You: you deffo
You: but I think you knew that from my messages from before
Dabi: Yeah i remember
Dabi: Dw you can articulate all the ways you need me after the show
You: haahahahhahaha
You: 😁😁😁 okay
Dabi: I have smth for you though
You: you do?
Dabi: Yeah
Dabi: Go to the back door where that scary security guy is
Dabi: His name is Spinner
Dabi: Tell him Dabi sent you
You: OKAY
You: :((( THIS IS SO CUTE
Dabi: You like them?
You: I can’t believe u got me flowers 😢
You: thank you!!!
Dabi: That’s alright
Dabi: Okay I need to go warm up
Dabi: I’ll be looking for you in the crowd
You: I’ll be staring at you too
Dabi: I said looking
You: same diff
You: wait hold on
Touya: What?
You: nm nm
You: good luck for ur show 😆
Touya: Thanks babe
BONUS
November 7th
5:05pm
Touya: Toga
Touya: Toga
Touya: Toga
Touya: TOGAAAAA
Toga: WTF DO U WANT
Touya: If I was gonna get a girl flowers what should I get her
Toga: GASP GASP
Toga: WHO R U RIZZING UP
Touya: Literally fuck off never say that
Toga: is this that girl you’re always messaging
Toga: and smiling at ur phone 🥺🥺
Touya: Fuck off
Toga: IT ISSSSSS
Toga: IS SHE COMING TONIGHT
Touya: Yes
Toga: AHHSSHAHWHW
Toga: THIS IS SO EXCITING
Touya: I’m so happy ur having so so much fun
Toga: I so ammmmmm
Toga: but why don’t u ask her what she wants
Touya: It’s a surprise idiot
Toga: AWWWWWWWW
Toga: okay well if u wanna be so really romantic u could get her roses
Toga: or maybeee tulips or lillies
Toga: she’ll like whatevs u get her
Touya: Okay
Touya: Thanks
Toga: that’s okay lover boy 😍🥰
Touya: Kys
—————————————————————————-
THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE OH EM GEE but it lowkey took longer than I thought it would… but i hope u all enjoyed 😁😁
also y/ns messaging is literally just how I message.. I fear this is the most self indulgent fic I’ve ever written
#oneshot#fluff#dabi/reader#touya todoroki x reader#dabi x reader#bnha touya#bnha dabi#league of villains#toga himiko#toga himiko x reader#band au#b3ach bunn7#touya todoroki#mha dabi#dabi todoroki#dabi
344 notes
·
View notes
Text
★ . . . 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 , 𝐋𝐍𝟒
summary , when making a guest appearance on your youtube series chicken shop date you were surprised by how much you actually enjoyed his company and the rest was history
pairing , lando norris x fem! youtuber! reader
main masterlist | f1 masterlist | lando norris masterlist
yourinstagram now playing: friday - riton, nightcrawlers, mufasa & hypeman
liked by landonorris charles_leclerc 89,279,365 others
yourinstagram landonorris has my heart racing 🏎️ chickenshopdate out Friday !
view comments
user Lando is literally perfect for this you don't understand
user brb need a pit stop you two are too good together ❤️🔥
user ICONIC collab 😮💨🙌🏽
user cold
charles_leclerc me next??? ⤷ landonorris no she mine ⤷ yourinstagram ummmmm since when sirrrr
user STOP STOP STOP IM SCREAMING!!!!!!!!
user He’s P1 in our hearts 😍🧡
user Get him some fish sticks
user ok song choice, you know what’s up
user can already hear his giggles
user Yeah, we needed this for sure
user IT'S FRIDAY THENNN 🕺
user Lando buzzing that he gets to eat a proper meal for once 😂
user At this point I don’t watch for the celebrities, I watch for Y/N.
user the capri sun is so iconic
user Weird, I’m jealous of a ketchup bottle
user BROOO IS THAT HOW IT FEELS TO GO ON A DATE WITH LANDOOO!???? cause im in
user We can’t gatekeep him anymore😭
user So this is what a date with Lando Norris is like?
user not him and charles beefing in the comments over Y/N 😭😭
user 😭 HOW 😭 DOES 😭 IT 😭 FEEL 😭 TO 😭 BE 😭 LIVING 😭 MY 😭DREAM 😭
view more comments
yourinstagram . 2hrs ago
seen by landonorris maxverstappen1 57,279,364 others
landonorris replied to your story!
you love me really
no comment
yourinstagram
yourinstagram The secret is out 💋 chickenshopdate with landonorris out now!
view comments
user RUNNING TO WATCH RN
user Y/N if you don’t I will
user Please make out with every guest, okay thank you bye
user STOP SMILING MAN WHAT THE HECK HE IS SO CUTE
user “i’m down” fell to my knees in the grocery store
user LMFAOO the way she answered “playing hard to get” too😭😭😭😭
user The LIP BITE after the ‘even hotter if I was in there’ 😅😅😅 OH MY
user LMAO she still didn’t follow him back😭😭😭😭😭
user lmk when someone writes this fanfic pls
user Y/N. This man is in love with you.
user Man was offended by "thats why your not winning" 😭
user Nah because they’re cuteeeee together 😩😩
user Wow I think I might like this one more than the one with central cee 😭
user Freaking get married right now
user he’s so bashful loveeee
user best duo ever ahahahahaah so chaotic
user Wasn’t long enough!!!!! 😭😭
user Okay, now I need every F1 racer to do chicken shop date
user This is a real date
user Lmao, best crossover
user This is illegal 😭 too cute😍
user PLS HE COULDN'T EVEN STOP BLUSHING 😩😩😩
user Amelia, this is so darn cute, please just date him already
view more comments
Y/N L/N → LANDO NORRIS | CHICKEN SHOP DATE
landonorris
liked by yourinstagram carlossainz55 89,265,186 others
landonorris Gonna go get my appendix removed. Apparently you do it and you win a race soooooo…. congrats Carlitos 🌶️ #weightloss
view comments
user CARLANDO. 🙏
yourinstagram Yay you were faster !!! 😍 xxx ⤷ landonorris all for you bae ⤷ user 😭💀 ⤷ user CSD effect💅 ⤷ user HELP HE WAS ⤷ user followed him back after getting on the podium 😂😂😂 ⤷ user it’s the power of love….🎶 ⤷ user more Y/N motivation 😍😍😍👏👏 ⤷ user FAV WAG 🥰 ⤷ user the most supportive gf for real ⤷ user not him calling her bae on the main
user What a duo 🔥
user Another Carlando podium….Another happy day 😁
user every racing driver about to go remove their appendix
user CARLANDO NATION! WE WON 🧡❤️
user All drivers take notes 📝 🤣🤣
view more comments
landonorris and yourinstagram . 4hrs ago
seen by carlossainz55 charles_leclerc 79,394,579 others
charles_leclerc replied to yourinstagram story!
so is this still a no for that chicken shop date??
get lando's blessing and then we'll talk
#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚📁 ─ lola's works ˚₊· ꒱꒱#lando norris#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#formula one#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 angst#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 smut#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#ln4#ln4 x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 fandom#f1#f1 fluff#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#f1 one shot#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
my apologies, :
for your viewing pleasure: the man
also we figured out 🚨💥🚨❗hilda's REAL LAST NAME❗ 🚨💥🚨
hi hilda fandom!! here is what i drew for @waddles-ex-machina's birthday 🥰 based on her adorable sketchbook baby au and our dumbass joke about kaisa being the daughter of imodna cr (the 2 characters in this pic u probably dont recognize dshjhfh)
i also made a ts4 family based on this au, theyre below if you wanna see them
mattie is missing bc she hasnt been born yet :') johanna is currently busy being a werewolf and dealing with her rebellious werewolf daughter, and kaisa is raising money for her and johanna's wedding (theyre engaged!!) by being an independent writer!!! excuse the mismatched colors of their outfits, this is the best i could do with what ts4 offered me 😔
bonus pics from when kaisa was a fighty lil kid but her mum always knew how to calm her and make her feel better :') i love them ur honor
#cr enjoyers i just want to add that we also had a llama fearne that hid a purple rock in her shed and imogen found it and had#relationship problems with laudna... just like in the campaign#also laudna randomly beats people up and im blaming that on delilah#oh and they have a skeleton cat that acts as pate bc i cant have rodents :/#AND hilda is a scout and mattie is gonna be a witch hehe#also yeah bex i forgot to tell u kaisa had become a writer i tried to make her work in the library but#i couldnt figure out how so now she writes for a living :') johanna is also raising money but hers go into supporting hilda#theyre kinda poor#but yea johanna paints !! my imodna ladies love her they keep inviting her over#and theyre basically hildas grannies already lmao#also i will just say that in this au i like to think mattie chose her name after her nana laudna (birthname matilda) okay#just because its crazy that it fits with this fuckin au we made up and i feel insane every time i think abt it#ok thanks bye ✌️#hilda the series#i will just say that there is a d20 joke abt a hilda hilda who lives at 22 hilda street and 22 hilda boulevard and it is#the only d20 clip ive seen. praise be to hilda hilda whoever they are
81 notes
·
View notes
Note
Being patos bestie and going crazy over that photoshoot 🧡
she's like a poem ⋆ pato o'ward smau
pairing: pato o'ward x bestfriend!reader (fc: gracie abrams)
warnings: none
a/n: i was flabbergasted by that photoshoot, i also included that one tiktok where he appeared covered in chocolate out of nowhere bc omg
remember that requests are open <33
masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd
yourusername just posted a story!
[caption: there's a pato stuck to my piñata @patriciooward]
user1: oh to be that piñata
user2: whose birthday is it?
user3: you guys need to be a couple NOW
patriciooward just posted a story!
[caption 1: happy birthday bicho 🎉] [caption 2: you're such a weirdo but i love you] [caption 3: can't believe you made it to 25 after eating the whole box of cheese balls 😻]
yourusername: thank you wey 😘😘
user1: THREE stories for wishing happy birthday? you're such a simp
user2: pls just date her we know you want to 💋
patriciooward just posted a tiktok!
patriciooward they're also perfect for a birthday
view all comments
user1 I SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING PATO
user2 im still not sure if i want to buy them, do another one
user3 looks so good, and the chocolate too 🥰
user4 birthday? wasn't y/n's few days ago
user5 omg yess. we see you pato
user6 don't ask me how many time i've watched it
yourusername ⚠️jumpscare⚠️
user3 Y/N- user7 i can't with these two
patriciooward just posted!
liked by yourusername, elbaoward and 12,545 others
patriciooward Some shots from the other day :)
view all comments
elbaoward give this man a model contract
user1 i'm feeling woman things
yourusername oh wow
patriciooward just posted a story!
[caption: 🌊⭐️]
yourusername: who's that bitch? oh wait it's me 😊
user1: it's that yn???
user2: finally soft launching her
yourusername just posted a story!
user1: OK WE SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING
user2: oh pato and you are so together
user3: please tell me that you kissed at least
patriciooward just posted!
patriciooward she's like a poem i wish i wrote (she made me write this)
tagged yourusername
view all comments
yourusername aww 🥰🥰 you know this is just to win over your sister right?
elbaoward anytime babyy 😉😉 patriciooward wait no it take me too many years to date her you can't take her from me this soon :((( yourusername too late bye
user1 THIS IS JUST PERFECT
user2 it's like watching those friends that everyone knows they're gonna end together ACTUALLY getting together
user3 shut up this is so cute
user4 y/n has always been my favourite wag even when she wasn't
user5 i love that this isn't even a surprise no anyone
user6 we knew they were dating before they were actually dating user7 FRRR
#pato o'ward#pato o'ward x female#pato o'ward x reader#pato o'ward x you#po5#indycar#pato o'ward fanfic#pato o'ward imagine#pato o'ward smau#pato o'ward fluff#noraverse 🫧#indycar x reader#f1#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff#formula 1 one shot#indycar smau
364 notes
·
View notes
Text
"An I love you card."
(Yes another HUG series drabble, sue me for missing them. They are my home😭)
Idol Kim Mingyu× F.reader
Genre/tags :fluff,comfort,Established relationship.
Summary: Reader just misses her lover so much. + mingyu buys an apartment so that he can finally ask you to live together with him.
(My brain isn't functioning a lot lately so idk about the summary,just read the fic you will understand, ok bye cuties🏃♀️➡️😭)
Masterlist
~
You: Lover...I'm breaking up with you if you don't come and give me my hugs till tonight.
Gyu❤️: Baby hello to you too and wtf you scared the shit out of me why'd you start your text like that😭..I'm coming okay wait for me
You: you better if you want me in your life👍🏻
Gyu❤️: stop scaring me ...don't you love me anymore? 🥺🥺
You: WHY ELSE DO YOU THINK IM DYING TO SEE YOU IF I DIDN'T LOVE YOU
Gyu❤️: OKAY OKAY MY BAD BABY I GOT IT IM COMING I MISS YOU SO MUCH TOO
You: yeah and on a serious note love I'm not trying to make you feel bad about this I understand that you have work ..it's just I want to see you and hold you ..I miss you 🥺🤐
Gyu❤️: I Know love I know ..do you need something to eat should I get you something?
You: You.. I'm gonna eat your cheeks and lips off
Gyu❤️: oh god babe you've lost it ..is this what the lack of me does to you?
You: It does..it's a serious issue you dont understand
Gyu❤️: okay sweets gotta go I'll be there till 9-10pm may be ..rest till then ok?bye love you mwahhhh
You: yes can't wait to see you love you too❤️
Currently it's 5PM of your day off and you're about to cry because you miss your lover. Honestly it hasn't been that long since you met him. You saw each other nearly 24 hours back. But those meetings has been like just some fleeting moments. And you can't help but miss him from deep within. Your week has been exhausting too and he cures literally everything for you.
It's still 4-5 hours till you can see him. You're not even sleepy anymore you already took a nap. So you just decide to do some self care. You put a sheet mask on your face. (And make a silly face with a pout for the selfie and send it to mingyu. Like Ofcourse.) You even do your nails. Then you get a silly idea to make a greeting card for him with a letter may be. You excitedly take a white paper and few colours, pencils,pens everything.
You draw a cute panda holding a heart. And write 'An I love you card' below it.
And put a cute letter inside it.
After that you eat dinner and wait for him.
You hear the keys rustling and know it's him. You've already done a lot of waiting so you go almost running to the door, your heart beating fast. He comes inside locking the door, when he turns around you're there already running to him, crashing into his arms. He let's out a surprised chuckle wrapping his arms around you.
"Hey there, looks like you missed me a little too much huh" He said closing his eyes feeling you in his arms, your warmth invading his chest and to whole body and his to yours. That's the most beautiful feeling and the very reason why you crave it so much.
You hum in the hug, clutching him tightly.
"I did and I'm not going to let you go now."
Then you look up and he sees your face and eyes, it looks like you're about to cry. Eyes teary while looking up at him and a small pout. He coos at you, instantly holding your face in his hands. "Aww my baby, what happened I'm here now aren't I hmm" He says wiping the corners of your eyes.
You lean into his touch. "I don't know..you made me cry." You pout harder and he leans down to peck your pout. Once, twice. "Don't say that.. what did I do?" He asks pouting back.
You look everywhere moving your eyes as if thinking of something to say. "You were just saying anything,weren't you?" He giggles now that he has figured you out. Squishing your face in adoration. His eyes crinkling as he smiles wide.
You nod,letting out a laugh. "Yeah you know me."
"Mhm thought so." He says then picking you up. He walks to the couch in living room,flopping down on it with you in his lap.
"You sure everything's ok baby?" He asks kissing your head.
"Yeah just...missed you so much." You whisper in his neck,where your face is buried. He rubs your back soothingly. You pull back from the hug to look at him.
"Did you eat?" You ask tracing his face with your fingers. "Mhm I did with the guys." He says sighing into your touch. Placing his forehead on your shoulder. You caress his hair, hugging him tighter and kissing his temple, then ear and then neck. He tilts his head towards your neck and places sweet pecks on your neck too. You pull back making him look up at you, you put your forehead on his saying "kiss me."
And he smiles, complying to you without wasting a single second. He kisses you and you feel home again. He squeezes you to himself hugging you tighter so you know he missed you just as much. You share a few sweet kisses and then pull back.
"You know how bored I was ...I spent the whole day alone." You tell him.
"I wish I had a day off too baby, I'd have loved to spend my whole day with you." He says pouting a little, tucking your hair strand behind your ear.
"It's okay you're here now" You say giving him a smile and a peck at his nose. He scrunches it cutely with a chuckle.
" Oh wait !! I've something for you." You say suddenly remembering something. Your eyes a little wide with excitement. You get up so fast from his lap. You pick up the card from table and hand it over to him.
He takes it, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion but a smile on his face.
"An I love you card" He reads and looks up to you with a bright smile. "Oh my god babe you're so fucking cuteeee ahh" he says laughing while pulling you closer by your waist,so you're standing in front of him.
"You've to open it " You let out a giggle urging him to open it.
'There are so many shitty people in the world but I Met you..I have you..how did I get you? You're so lovable you know? And I love you for who you are. So kind,loving,caring. You keep calling me angel but you are the real angel. Thank you for coming into my life. I love you so much. I'm writing this because you need to know this and also because I fucking miss you right now. Ok bye don't make fun of me after this.' ~only yours,y/n.
You see all of his expressions with each word,with each line he reads, he melts a little more. h
He tries to control his smile. He looks up at you with tearful eyes. Grabbing your hand he pulls you closer. "How are you so cute baby." He sighs caressing your hands, "How did you get me you say..?.. But how did I get you?" "You're so precious you know that ? It's not even my birthday or anything special, it's just a random day and you're here making me feel so loved." He's looking up at you with so much love in his eyes with a sweet grin on his face, which you love so much.
You chuckle combing your fingers through his slightly long hair. "Baby, it's just me saying I love you in a silly way,it's nothing special.it's just a card."
"Well it is special to me." He says pulling you on his lap again. "And I'm going to cherish it forever, I'll keep it safe with me...thank you." "And I love you too by the way." He says grinning wide,giving you a peck on the lips.
"And I was going to do something special to tell you this or may be I should have asked you before doing this but.." He sighs.." I don't know I just love you so much and I want you to know, I want you with me always. So.." He takes a breath to prepare himself. He fishes out keys from his pocket. "I've been carrying these around since a week." He chuckles nervously, while your heart is beating fast.
"I know I should have probably asked you before doing this, but I just ..I wanted to do it for us ...so ..I bought an apartment for us . It's registered under both of our names."
You gasp "gyuu-" your eyes wide.
"I-I know baby ..it's a big step but ...will you move in with me baby?" He asks finally. "You know that I want a future with you right? For me You're my one and only." He says clutching your hands in his.
You finally let out a sob mixed with a watery laugh. Nodding furiously you say "You're my one and only too gyu. Shit I didn't know you'd do something like this ..but I've thought about this almost daily, when I want you to hold me to sleep. When I want to see you as soon as I open my eyes in the morning. Fuck you don't know how much I miss you when we can't meet or whenever I have to sleep alone." You sniffle and he's wiping your tears, nodding along with whatever you're saying.
"It's a little scary but I trust you with my whole life, so yes I'd very much love to move in with you."
His puppy eyes slowly get bigger in size as he gets happy "Really? Oh my god...I love youuu" He says getting up with you, spinning you.
"Oh my god you're going to make us fall..slow down." You laugh as his giggles fill the room. He stops putting you down on the ground.
"Is tomorrow ok with you? I want to show you the place first then we can decide the rest." He asks. "Yes." You say becoming a blushing mess making him coo at you.
a/n: idk if this is any good but i wrote this in June, finally finished it. Also im sorry for making you wait for 'I hate you not' series.it's also halfway done but it'll take a lot of time for me to actually post it. I'm more into reading than writing these days so please feel free to suggest me some good fics. Thank you for reading this. Hope y'all are having a nice day 🥹🫶
#seventeen#seventeen x reader#seventeen mingyu#mingyu×reader#kimmingyuff#kimmingyu#svt imagines#svt x reader#seventeen fanfic#seventeenimagines#svt fluff#fanfic#svt kim mingyu#kim mingyu#mingyu x reader#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fluff#seventeen smut
296 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part Two + Epilogue
A/N: this is an approximation of what I envisioned reader wearing the night of the premiere. the monologues come from the works of elena jacobs and lemony snicket.
▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 1 | that's all folks!
▲ AO3 Link
▲ Taglist Form
NOVEMBER
Snow had come hesitantly to the city. Sprinkling down and melting against the black tar like salt in soup, the weather seemed unable to make up its mind. That nasty wind would flush down narrow alleyways, snagging up unsuspecting hats and everything not firmly held down, bringing with it that biting cold. This late in the season, the gorgeous bloom of golds and reds fluttering in trees was gone, torn down by that spiteful wind. The gnarled, brown bodies of leaves littered the streets, drain pipes swallowing them down when that first drift of snow melted into gray water. New York was fighting an oncoming winter, sinking its heels in and rejecting the inevitable. Everyone else just wished it would pick a side.
You know you’re not, not really, but sometimes you feel it: old. At thirty-two, things tend to crack a little louder than they used to. Hangovers lasted two days, not two hours, and how you used to live your life with only hours of sleep for weeks at a time completely baffles you. Sure, it was probably a lot of coke, but god, these hours are going to kill you.
Production for Andrew’s play is in full swing. Some days you never leave the back side of the curtain, too entrenched in building, then painting the forty-two foot moveable walls. Between you and the rest of the tech crew, you had managed to solve the weight problem: because of its light-weight nature, the walls had a tendency to fall forward or back, basically the opposite direction of where they were pushed. But late last Thursday, with a few bolts from a nail gun, a couple of thick screws, and several PVC pipes, the walls stabilized. A collective, exhausted cheer went up, some moved to tears after hours of frustration. After that the crew went home . . . and you went to open the gallery.
Marie helps as much as she can. Opening early when you can’t and closing late when you have passed out in your office chair. But as financial manager and co-owner, she has her own responsibilities. Hands to shake and meetings with potential buyers and artists. She’s taken over much of the front-facing work associated with running a gallery, as you had both agreed when you agreed you’d handle Andrew’s project, but there’s still so much to do. Opening night looms large in your mind and you are simultaneously excited and horrified. Once it's over, you plan on sleeping for two weeks straight.
There are some bright spots, though. Your crew is a bunch of college kids from NYU interning, but they teach you about the world of TikTok outside of being the marketing arm for the gallery and whatever the fuck flossing is. You overheard one of them call Dieter, “girl dinner” and you absolutely knew better than to ask what that meant. They’re funny and curious and love to learn. Gives you hope for this goddamn world.
And then, there’s the opportunities you get to see bits of the show before anyone else. When rehearsals are on, the building stops, quiets for a few minutes. Like ants, the stagehands scurry out into the seats, relieved to have nothing to do for a bit, and eager to see where all their hard work is going.
You find your place at the far back of the house, out of the lights of the stage, and you watch him. And he’s good. He’s so fucking good it makes your heart twist in your chest. The rest of the cast is great in their own right, but your eyes remain glued to him and him alone. His performance is magnetic. You feel it in your bones. You could watch him on a stage for the rest of your life. You don’t miss acting, but you do miss having him as a scene partner.
For what it’s worth, he never looks at Emily longer than he has to.
You twist your wrist, growling at the pain, the muscle in your forearm cramping like it always did when you overworked yourself painting. With the walls built, that left only the actual artwork to be done and if your team were master carpenters, master artists they were not. You set them to work painting the base layer, but it was on you to bring those designs Andrew approved to life.
You are sweaty, hungry, and every time you move, something else hurts. By your watch, it’s close to seven and Andrew usually lets the cast go home around seven thirty. You’re a more benevolent overlord; you let your team go around seven fifteen.
But at seven on the dot, the black curtain moves back and several members of the cast head towards the back door, animatedly chatting amongst themselves. Like wildfire, some gossip spreads from the cast to the crew, eyes lighting up and suddenly reinvigorated.
“What are they talking about?” You ask Liam, one of the stagehands, who shrugs.
“No idea, but –,”
“Andrew is giving us the weekend off!” Sarah in her too big overalls comes bounding over, practically vibrating. “He’s hosting a party at Shandy’s.”
Shandy’s is actually three different venues built into one like legos. In the center was an open air stage. If live music wasn’t playing, then the latest sports game played on the high definition screen. On the right was a bar, aptly in the style of an old tiki lounge. And on the left, was a low-maintenance seafood bar and grill: fish and chips, fried oysters, and hush puppies. It sounded fun but you never much had the inclination to go sniffing your nose around temptation.
“You’re coming, right, Natalie?” Sarah asks excitedly. But the idea that you have a second of free time to yourself, much less to spend it with drunk people, is laughable.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Sarah. There’s gallery stuff – Marie hasn’t had a break in weeks and –,”
“You hear the good news?” Dieter’s delighted tone splits apart your little trio and he comes loping over with a grin on his face. “We’ve got the weekend off.”
“Hell yeah!” Liam pumps his fist. “But Natalie here doesn’t wanna come to the party at Shandy’s.”
Dieter’s face falls. “Why not?”
You frown, not feeling like you need to explain yourself to a bunch of college students, or Dieter himself for that matter. You stand up, mindful of the tension in your lower back, and wipe the paint on your hands on your overalls. After working with you for several weeks, Sarah’s bright enough to pick up on your irritation simmering low.
She eyes him as she steps forward. “We’re gonna head out for the night, if that’s okay?”
You nod at the both of them, your mouth still twisted into a frown.
“I have a job outside of this,” you huff at Dieter, as the kids scurry away. “A busy full time job and I just can’t –,”
“What if I pick you up?” Dieter asks. How, after all these years, could he still make you feel like you are the only person in the room? “Andrew’s also doing a bunch of events for the out-of-towners, and the last stop before dinner is a bar. Which I’d like to avoid for obvious reasons. So lemme meet you at the gallery and take you to the dinner.” He smiles relaxed.
“I just don’t know, Dieter.”
“Bring Marie,” he says simply. “You both have earned a night off. I’ll pick you both up and take you back after dinner. I’ll help you mail invoices, if you’d like.”
Knowing exactly what his ADHD does to his brain with numbers, you shake your head, giving up the ghost and grinning. “That’s really not necessary, but, um, I’ll think about it. Lemme talk to Marie and see what she thinks.”
He nods, watching as the backstage empties out. Less people, less noise. Dieter’s mouth twitches.
“I can help you with painting too. You and I both know I’ve got a shit head for numbers, but this, I think I can do. With a little direction.”
He flashes you a smile and you inject your thumbnail into your closest finger.
“Um, maybe? I’m exhausted right now and probably shouldn’t be making any executive decisions.”
“You want me to walk you home?”
Your chest swells at his sincerity. “Just to the subway stop if you don’t mind.”
To your enormous (disparagingly, staggeringly large) surprise, Marie actually agrees.
“I’ve been staring at excel spreadsheets so long I think I’m going cross-eyed,” she says from behind the office desk you share that next morning. She massages her eyeballs with the heel of her palm. “We’re in a good place with the fundraiser announcements for the holidays and there aren’t any upcoming tours we have to schedule.”
You know this, but you let her talk through it outloud, hoping she’ll stumble across something that’ll make her change her mind. But she doesn’t.
She shrugs. “Tell him I’ll buy him dessert if he gets a car with heated seats.”
After your initial confrontation at your brownstone, Marie had seemingly changed her stance on having Dieter around. While she wasn’t about to offer to him to stop by, she most likely wasn’t still considering murdering him in his sleep. You wonder if it had anything to do with his consistent concern about your wellbeing – making sure you ate breakfast at those six AM calltimes and walking you home at night in the freezing cold, despite your protests. He even made the very risky joke that Daddy’s visitation hours were over and it was time to return you to Mommy . . . in front of Marie. And again to your enormous surprise, she laughed.
It was progress. Progress towards what, you weren’t entirely sure.
You smile at your friend, gray eye bags and all. Maybe this is the universe’s way of sending its approval; yes, this is okay to want.
“I’ll call him later today.”
It’s the last tour on a Friday before a long weekend. Meaning, none of the students are paying attention and a few appear asleep on their feet. You go on with your explanation of brushwork, of pattern recognition, that artists' use of color is almost as distinctive as their signature. You sound boring even to yourself, your quips falling flat and references feeling awkwardly outdated. Nothing could rouse these zombies and their glassy-eyed stares. The herd shuffles along as you take them to the charcoal exhibit.
This actually has you excited, charged even. You talk about the care that using this particular medium requires, that there are so rarely do-overs and mistakes are costly. The artist must be precise with their vision, focused, and above all else, determined.
Your impassioned speech for the arts wakes up no one and you fight back a frown.
Jesus Christ, gimme something to work with.
As you try and remember the next part of your tour, something beyond the crowd of students moves. You’re halfway through describing past and present famous artists who worked with charcoal, when you catch his eyes.
Dieter leans up against one of the white walls, a real one, not a hanging salon wall, his arms crossed and his converse notched against his ankle. You expect a smirk, a tease, so this is what you get up to when I’m not around, but whatever is on his face its not that.
It’s . . .
He’s smiling.
Like he’s proud of you.
You attempt to stifle the blush erupting up your face as you turn back to the artwork. If the students can catch the tremble in your voice, they don’t say anything.
Through the glass window, you see their bus pull up and stop by the curb, a beautiful glowing miracle.
“And that’s the end of our tour,” you say quickly. “Thank you for coming on this tour. Feel free to browse the gift shop, but you are free to go. ”
You don’t physically shoo them out the door, but your fingers clench just the same.
“You’re good.” Logically, you know you didn’t hear him coming, didn’t smell his cologne. But you sense him all the same. You don’t jump at his voice suddenly at your shoulder. You turn and smile back at him, throwing your hip out dramatically.
“Had some practice acting in front of crowds before. Maybe you’ve seen my work?”
He shrugs, swinging his hands into that tan coat – which he wouldn’t let you pay to get drycleaned – as he looks around the gallery.
“Maybe, I have,” he sniffs, “don’t get a big head about it.”
You laugh as he wanders back as though drawn to the art. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your contribution and curse yourself for not tearing it down when you had the chance.
You sidle up next to him, hoping that if he got that far, you could deter his attention elsewhere. But he doesn’t notice your anxiety, your worrying ball of fear. Instead, he’s quiet, mouth soft, eyes slow to move across the exhibits.
“You know, you always were braver than me.” Your heart catapults into your throat, gaze wrenching away from your dark secret to him, to his face, to search desperately for a hint of a lie.
“W-what do you mean?”
“This, all of this,” he swings his hand out either to indicate the rest of the artwork or the building itself, “it’s so fucking incredible, Natalie. I let you see one painting of mine and I wanted to die from embarrassment. But this . . . you . . .” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do this.”
“Do you still paint?”
There are flashes in your memory, more feelings than anything else, of that time in New Orleans. You’ve told your therapists as much as you can remember about it, about the drugs you took with him, how quickly it spiraled out of control. And then comes the most painful thing to admit: it was the first and only time in your life you felt truly happy. Having Dieter all to yourself was a bright spot that nothing, not even time, or anger, or heartbreak could ever extinguish.
And in those flashes of memory, you remember waking up and watching him paint gorgeous things on those green walls. Watching him paint on you.
Your heart aches, throbbing for just a minute. He’s been back in your life for months now, and you’re still convinced he’ll vanish the second you’re not looking.
Dieter nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a stress reliever than anything else.”
“I get that. I tried out ceramic work before I found out I’m complete shit at it. But it felt good to punch something gooey.”
He grins. “Oh, yeah?”
You nod, adding, “moved on to painting giant murals after that. Pollock would have been proud.”
He follows you as you lead him back, into the long and winding guts of the gallery.
“I tried a lot of things after . . . after rehab. Not a lot stuck, but at least I wasn’t choking on my own feelings anymore.”
Your unconscious feet have brought you to the red painting your other tour group pointed out. It’s big, pulsating red, black specks invading the scarlet colors like an infection.
“Lots of love and nowhere to put it,” he murmurs to the painting.
His curls are just as lush, just as beautiful as they are on your charcoal sketch. As they are in your memories. God, his neck, his fucking neck –
He catches you staring and grins bashfully. “Sorry, what you said reminded me of that scene in Fleabag. When she confesses to the tax guy.”
You swallow around the knot in your throat, nodding your only possible action. And then he turns and you feel your knees buckle.
“Did you paint because of me?” The brown in his eyes is soft, overwhelming. Seizes you and nails you to the floor. The noise that would leave your mouth if you open it would come directly from your heart.
The gallery is quiet, empty. Silent as a church.
But then he steps back, resetting the distance between you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m crossing a line here and –,”
“Yes.” It’s gentle, quiet, your admission. Your confession. “Yes. You said you picked it up in rehab and I . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see if it helped me too.”
He worries his lip, his hands fidgeting in his pocket. “And did it help? Painting?”
You huff and cross your arms as you stare up at the art you made with so much unhinged rage and painful love pouring out of you. You had been sure your tears were going to ruin the paint.
“Yeah. It did. Unfortunately, your fucked up matched my fucked up in absolutely every way possible.” His nose flares as he stares at the ground. It hurts him still, after all these years. You inhale, the smell of the space calming your nerves, Dieter’s cologne a heady undertone. Trembling barely visible, you reach forward and take his hand. It’s warm and heavy and you try to find a memory where it was gentle against your face, but it doesn’t come. Your brain longs for new memories of him, hungry, desperate after surviving on scraps. He stops breathing regularly as you intertwine your fingers. “For what it’s worth, Dieter . . . it was nice not to feel so alone.”
The noise he makes is quiet, almost imperceptible. Could have been a deep breath, a groan, a sigh. But it is something much more vulnerable, much more punctured than that.
You hold him a bit longer before letting him go.
“I don’t get it,” he mutters quietly, staring at your wrist. “I don’t get why you aren’t fucking furious with me.”
“I was,” you confirm. “For a long time, I was. I hated you, Dieter. But I can’t be mad at you without being mad at myself and I’ve learned to forgive both.”
He closes his eyes briefly, lashes thick as they obscure that beautiful brown. “I could have said no. I could have – stopped it, before it became anything.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
It's careless, throwing around suggestions about fate and destiny and the thing that binds all living things. Your gaze lifts from his lips to his forehead when he looks back at you.
“You’re right,” he hums. “You were, we were . . . it was an addiction I wasn’t prepared to deal with at the time.”
“Did it get better? Dealing with your . . . addiction.”
You want to think he’s looking at your lips as you face the painting again.
“Nope,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Had to quit cold turkey. But this one, uh, this one doesn’t come with any nicotine patches.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Those things smell disgusting.”
Something buckles as it crosses his face. He sticks his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah. But I would have preferred it to the alternative.”
New York had made a decision by the time Marie locks up the gallery behind her. The sky is a throbbing purple and thick snowflakes flutter against your eyelashes. The sharp wind had surrendered, winter making its final claim over the city, and it started snowing with confidence, with surety.
White flecks cling to your scarf as ahead of you, Dieter opens the car door for Marie. Desperate to get out of the cold, she practically launches herself across the leather seats, her little body always cold as it is.
“Did you seriously get a driver with this car?” You shake your head at him as you follow Marie. He smirks as he climbs in after you.
“I’m only partially responsible with a credit card now. Besides, New York drivers are so mean and my fragile heart can’t take it.”
It was a simple town car, but with the seats facing inward like a limo. Marie sits with her hands over the air vent in the floor with obvious relief on her face. She cracks an eye open to Dieter as he shuts the door and the car lurches into traffic.
“What do you want?” She scowls begrudgingly.
“What do you mean?”
“You went above and beyond the request for seat warmers. I owe you dessert. What do you want?”
Dieter chuckles, glancing at you as Marie all but curls up against the vent.
“Rain check?”
She hums and closes her eyes, her head lolling against the window. Dieter sits across from you, his feet tucked in between yours, a content smile on his face.
“Thank you,” you murmur quietly. The cold has left a pink blush across his cheeks and it looks wonderful on him. His hands flex by his sides.
“Least I could do.”
The only sound for a while is the rush of air coming out of the vent, the faint honk of a car in the distance. Over Dieter’s shoulder, you watch the slow trickle of snow turn more consistent, flakes turning to chunks. It looks deathly cold out there.
You meet Dieter’s gaze – only because he had been watching you first.
“Do you ever miss warm and sunny California?” you tease quietly, mindful of Marie.
“Sure.” Dieter shrugs and folds up his long leg over his knee. “But I don’t think California misses me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” You cock your head to the side, watching the snowfall again. “California has a lot of good memories with you.”
“Well, if California ever wants me back, she’ll have to give me a call.”
You laugh. “She’s far too mysterious for that.”
“I’d like to think I know what a lady wants.” His voice is low, rumbling, like the heated vents. You glance at him but he’s already staring out the window.
You unbutton your coat and sit in silence for the rest of the ride.
Shandy’s is, presumably, packed. Hot bodies desperate to get out of the cold stand shoulder to shoulder in the pretend-crab shack. The irony of a beachfront-themed restaurant while outside a blizzard is brewing, is not exactly on anyone’s mind as they cram further in, away from the windows and drafts. The smell of fried fish makes your mouth water and these are the times you miss having an ice-cold glass of beer. With your arm wrapped around a sleepy Marie, Dieter stands on his toes to try and find Andrew and the other cast and crew who showed up. He drops back down, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, saying something to you, but it’s loss in the buzz of the crowd.
“What?” You yell across three feet. He shakes his head and, without warning, takes your hand, diving into the crowd. You have only a second to revel in the warmth of his palm before you have to take an active stance to avoid being elbowed or stepped on. Marie latches on to your arm tighter, one good jostle away from being lost in the sea of people. Dieter ducks and weaves with shocking precision, his wide chest cutting a path for you and Marie behind him. Someone steps back and you stumble into his shoulder.
He glances down at your intertwined hands, as if to make sure you are still there. You can’t quite read what’s in his eyes.
“Nearly there,” he murmurs before diving back into the crowd. Like the parting of the red sea, Dieter manages to pull the three of you through the knot of people and over to where a section of tables and booths had been roped off. Andrew leaps to his feet, his face red and eyes blurry, the instant he sees you.
“You made it! I thought we lost Dieter a while ago!” He embraces each of you, ending with Marie who glares up at him.
“I’m hungry.” A sleepy Marie was one thing. A hangry Marie was a whole other beast entirely.
Andrew chuckles and slings an arm over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we ordered everything on the menu twice, so dig in. All goes on the company card.” Marie’s eyes the size of silver dollars as she stumbles towards the feast, Andrew turns back to you. “What about you? Hungry?”
There’s something warm in your palm and it takes you a minute to realize it’s Dieter’s hand. You’re still holding hands – and smooth as ever, Dieter casually lets go as one of the cast members comes to give him a hug.
“You’re good, right?” He says to you, as they break apart. “You can come sit with us if you want.”
By some miracle, you spot someone who looks like Sarah from the back so you shake your head.
“Nah. I think I see my people over there.” And then you do something incredibly stupid: you clap Dieter on the shoulder, like an uncle would pat his neurotic nephew. “If Marie comes looking for me, tell her I’m in the back.”
He glances at your hand on his shoulder and then nods. “Sure. Uh, have fun?”
You are sweating beneath your woolen coat from the body heat of a hundred drunk idiots and now you can actually feel it on your hairline.
“Yeah. You too.”
You spin on your heel in the direction of your salvation, internally cringing at your own stupidity. If this girl isn’t Sarah, I am so totally and completely fucked.
The girl was, in fact, Sarah. Liam’s there too and a few of the other NYU interns. The art director sits in a booth nearby, talking to a couple of the students, so you don’t entirely feel like a lecherous weirdo hanging out with a bunch of nineteen year olds.
Many of them come up to you, offering to buy you a drink as a premature celebration for opening night, which is only just a week away. But you merely ask for water, or a coke. They obliged, curious, but respectful, staying for a while to chat until the ice in their glasses melts and they’re off for a refill.
In the early days of your partnership with her, Carla told you that addictions are formed out of habits: you turn to drugs or alcohol every time because you have no other tools with which to self-regulate. That you quite literally fill the silences by drinking because the alternative is unbearable.
So, you count it as a small personal, private win that you can lean against a railing, quiet, and watch the crowds of people without ever feeling like you need a drop to top it off.
But . . . there is a want. A missing of something no longer there. You toss back the ice to crack it between your molars before it melts.
“Hey there, stranger!” Dieter bounces up the few steps to the small alcove you’ve propped yourself up in. His cheeks are flush and his hairline is wet. That gorgeous jacket is nowhere to be seen. He shoulders up next to you and you are consumed with his radiating body heat.
A delighted scream goes up from the crowd as the opening chords of Sweet Caroline begin and the walls vibrate with a triumphant “bum bum bum.”
“Someone’s having a good time,” you practically shout over the bad and off-key singing, eying him up and he chuckles, swirling around the brown, bubbly liquid in his cup.
“Some of the kids wanted to go dancing,” he yells back, “and bet I couldn’t floss or whatever, so sue me if I’m a little sweaty.”
He drops his head and rubs his sweaty forehead against your shoulder.
“Ew! Dieter – get off!” You giggle and shove him away from you. Hekers as he stumbles against the railing. He sniffs his shirt.
“Blegh – I think I can already smell myself.”
Sobering, you watch him as he presses the cool cup against his forehead. He catches you watching.
“What?” He asks and pushes the sweaty ends of his hair out of his face.
You turn your head to his ear so you don’t have to screech over Neil Diamond’s most famous song for white people. “You look . . .” You can’t really find the right words now, opting for staring at a freckle on his neck until they come to you. “You look happy, I guess.”
The rapturous smile curled around his lips fades, his eyes caught on the melting ice in his cup. This close, your shoulders touch and he curls around you, like he’s got a secret. You’ve learned a thing or two from your therapist so you wait until he’s ready.
The crowd is insatiable, screaming and howling as the final chords play, and another plucky song starts up.
“Once upon a time, these kinda things were a struggle for me.” He nods to the crowd, the bar, the alcohol. “Either I’d get black out drunk and wake up next to my PA or a stripper named Candy. And then, when you met me, I was straddling sobriety and my failing marriage.” Another party, a hotel, a blue sparkling pool. Wanting nothing more to push him back into his room and unbuckle his pants on top of his linen bedsheets. Dieter drops his head away, his forearm tense against yours. He thumbs the edge of his cup, preparing it for his admission. “And then . . . I was going out of my mind trying not to think about you.”
You can’t admonish him. You already know this, how you had been the image in his mind he pictured when he fucked his fist, long before viewing party at the director’s house. But it feels new, fresh, like he’s confessing all over again. Like the feeling persists.
“Dieter, I . . .”
His mouth is soft, beard wet, neck sticky with sweat, but his eyes burn you. Threaten to singe the skin from your bones.
“Old habits die hard, I think.”
His thumb presses against your wrist, his big hand covering yours against the wooden bar, pinning you – you can’t move forward or pull away. The heat of his chest throbs against your stuttering ribcage, the fingertips of his other hand twitching against yours at your side, seeking out your knuckles and then jerking away. His inhale draws your chin up to his, you’re so close you can see every memory etched in the lines around his eyes, his pulsating skin above the vein in his neck – the way his lips part when you meet his gaze. He murmurs your name and the ghost of his kiss swoops down your spine, choking your lungs, robbing you of air. Heavy lashes soft against his cheeks, he breathes, gives you whatever is left inside of him and you swallow it down, inches from his mouth.
Here you come again
Just when I'm about to make it work without you
You look into my eyes and light those dreamy eyes
And pretty soon I'm wondering how I came to doubt you
In the lofty silence between you, the Dolly Parton lyrics are audible, the crowd decidedly less familiar with the words. The bubble of sound surrounding you, enclosing you and him, breaks, the casual hum of a bar returning, and the outside world suddenly exists again.
He blinks at you as neither of you can ignore the song any more.
Here you come again
Looking better than a body has a right to
And shaking me up so, that all I really know
Is here you come again, and here I go
“Smoke?” You squeak.
He nods quickly, pushing you gently on your low back. “We gotta get the fuck outta here before they play Jolene.”
It’s nearing 1AM when Marie finally stumbles out of Shandy’s, drunk and warm and full of french fries.
“‘Hn don’ even ca-are I’m over thirty n’ drunk as hell.” She mutters into your shoulder. Heavy virgin snow sits heavy on the ground, only a few imprints of shoes left behind. You hold her close, worried about her stumbling and yanking you both to the ground. Dieter has gone ahead to flag the car down.
“You say that now but wait until the hangover, sweetie,” you laugh and she squeezes you.
“Hmm, you’re maybe right.”
Bold headlights flash on the street ahead as the town car pulls up against the curb. Dieter jogs up, leaving the car door open behind him.
“Gimme Drunky Pants.” You help him hold Marie up right before he bends, scooping her up by her knees and cradling her to his chest.
“Dieter, be careful,” you frown. “It’s fresh snow. You could slip.”
Marie lifts her head, her arms looped around his neck, squinting. “Am I Drunky Pants?”
“Yeah, Drunky Pants,” Dieter chuckles as he leads you to the car. “It’s a good thing you weigh about a buck fifty soaking wet.”
“Hey, pal, ‘m at least two dollars.” She holds up three fingers. She tries to find you over his shoulder. “Natalie, call my lawy’r, they’re takin’ me to jail.”
You brush her wet hair out off her forehead just outside the door. “I’ve got bail money, don’t worry about it.”
Dieter snorts and climbs to the car, minding Marie’s head as it goes limp on her neck. He eases her onto one of the seats as her eyes flutter open and shut.
“ ‘re such a good friend, Nat-il-ee. I h’ve bail money for you too.”
You shut the door after them and Dieter raps the glass, indicating to the driver to go on. He sits back down as Marie’s hand touches his knee.
“ ‘r we friends, Die’er? We’re frien’s right?”
You bite your lip, trying to keep from ruining what could be a very sweet moment, as Dieter pats her hand.
“Yeah, Drunky, we’re friends.”
“I’m not Drunky, you’re Drunky . . . wait, no, guess y’re not.” With a sigh, Marie rolls over and faces the plush seat. “Good night.”
Dieter meets your eyes across the car, your teeth tight against your lips, and he shakes his head, grinning like a mad man. Don’t ruin it for her.
You nod, snorting down a giggle. You take out your phone and snap one picture. Just for memorabilia.
DECEMBER
The morning of Opening Night
The concrete floor is cold even through your thick socks and hard-bottom slippers. The low window is shut and has been locked for weeks now, but the icy air managed to sneak in anyway. A woolen shawl around your shivering shoulders, you shuffle towards the stack of shelves at the back corner of your basement. Your pottery wheel sits clean and unused, the prospect of either hauling it up to the kitchen or freezing your ass off down here equally unappealing.
You store things down here that are either seasonal, like decorations and bug spray, or things that are too big to fit somewhere upstairs. Or, in the case of what you’re looking for, things that weigh too much.
It’s on the bottom shelf in the back, like it always is. You realize now that you’ve unintentionally stored it in a place of shame or embarrassment, a dirty secret you can only look at when it’s cold and all the lights are off. But that’s not how you feel about it. You slide it off its shelf, the only thing here that isn’t covered in a layer of grime that accumulates over items in basements. The buckles are cold under your hands and you feel like you should apologize. So you do. Silently, you make a promise that it’ll no longer live in the basement, that under the bed, easier to reach, might be a better home for it.
After all, you think, after tonight, you might want to show it to him.
Breathing out puffs of white air, you tighten your shawl over your shoulders and make the slow climb back up to the warmth.
Opening Night - Premiere of Homeward with You directed by Andrew Young
You puff out your cheeks, air rushing out between your lips painted the color of pomegranate, deflating entirely, as you swish the emerald green folds of your dress back and forth in the mirror. At the store, you loved it immediately and Marie audibly squealed, repeating that on the point of death, you had to promise to buy this dress for the premiere.
Now, you think it fits awkwardly, the waist too tight and the loose shoulders unable to settle right. The high collar around your neck threatened to choke you out, your overheated skin uncomfortably itchy beneath the wool.
This is stupid. I look ridiculous. I’m changing immediately –
“If you try to take that off, I’m tackling you to the ground.”
Marie shakes her head as she slips silver studs into her ear, her own black dress stunningly elegant yet remarkably simple. Her short hair is coiffed, tucking around her ear in a way that would make any flapper girl sick with envy.
“But it doesn’t look right,” you whine. “I look like an asparagus!”
She rolls her eyes and picks your earrings up from your vanity, your gold necklace looped between her fingers. Her smooth brow is furrowed as she gently slips your earrings on, softly plugging the backs. She is quiet, contemplative.
“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be you when I grew up?” She asks quietly.
You frown at her in the mirror as she goes to put on the other earring. “That’s ridiculous. You of all people know what a complete nightmare my life has been.”
“Yeah, but you’re still here, aren’t you?” She unhooks the chain of your necklace. “You are without a doubt the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. You’re brave and funny and smart. Everything I ever wanted in a big sister.”
The sharp flush of tears in your eyes threatens to smear your mascara and you catch her arm as it rests against your shoulder to clasp your necklace together. She stills and you look her in the eye.
“You’re my best friend, you know that?” You ask her, your voice tight.
She puts her arms around you, her head on your shoulder, her heels adding that extra height, and you watch each other in the mirror.
“Of course, I know that. I just want you to be happy.” Her tone changes and you can’t find her meaning in her eyes.
“I am happy,” you say, firmly. “I’m happy with this life we built.”
She kisses your temple. “No, you’re not. But you could be.”
The falling snow flickers and sparkles in the bright lights of the theater, the sidewalks clear for now. As the car approaches, through the window you read the name of the production up on the marquee in giant bold letters, his name just below it. Your stomach tightens.
The tires squeak and you climb out of the cab, Marie just behind you. No one greets you and there are no flashing camera lights. There are a few journalists, trade reporters, critics but they stand around, relaxed, smoking or talking amongst themselves. It’s a relatively quiet affair, not uncommon for productions of this size. You feel the brief press of disappointment before boxing it away.
The lobby is warm, with bordeaux floors and wooden paneled walls. An ancient staircase spills out to greet its guests, rich, shining banisters peering down from the second floor. A smiling suit-and-bowtie bartender waits by the coat check-in desk, converted from the old ticket sales corner used during the theater’s glory days. Marie offers to take your coat as your phone starts to ring.
Fighting between your coat and getting your phone, you answer it without checking the caller.
“Hello?”
“Hey there.” Dieter.
Your mouth dries and you glance at Marie chatting with the coat check-in girl. Quietly, you make your way over behind the grand staircase, a little out of sight.
“Dieter, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“I can do both. Talk to you and put on this eyeliner that makes me cry.” You fight a smile, your hand holding your elbow, shoulders hunching towards the sound of his voice. “It’s okay, you can laugh. It was funny. I’m funny.”
“Dieter, did you call for a reason?” You know he can’t physically see you roll your eyes, but he’s deserving of it anyway.
“Yeah. Um, well, actually I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“If you’re in the lobby, can you look over by the old phone booths?” Annoyingly vague occasionally, but cryptic, Dieter is not. You peer around the wall, your gaze running across the lobby. Sure enough, by one of the other theater entrances sits five old wooden phone booths. Only a few still hold the rotary boxes, but in one on the end sits a small woman with white hair. “Do you see a lady there in a silver dress in one of them?”
“Yeah, I do. Who is she, Dieter?”
With an exasperated chuckle, he says, “okay, this you can’t laugh at. She’s my therapist.”
“What?”
“Okay, ex-therapist. I met her in rehab and I stuck with her after I got out. But then about five years ago she retired and she referred me to someone else. We kept in touch and became really good friends. I flew her out here to see my play and I was wondering . . . if you could keep her company.”
Your mouth dropped further and further open. “Dieter, I . . . I don’t know . . .”
“She doesn’t bite,” he laughs. “And don’t worry, she only knows only most of the details of our sex life.”
“DIETER!”
“I’m kidding – I’m kidding!” You can picture him hunched over on the chair in the dressing room, laughing himself silly. He sighs, giggles subsiding. “Okay, look, she knows you who are, but I don’t talk about that stuff with her anymore.” His voice drops, quiet and boyish. “Besides, she’s kind of the closest thing I have to family and I don’t trust anyone else with her but you.”
You can almost feel his breath across your jaw, his hushed reverence.
“You still there?”
“Yeah, Dee, I’m still here.” You scratch your eyebrow with your nail. “Of course, I’ll keep an eye on her. What’s her name?”
“Beatrice, but I just call her Bea.”
You arch an eyebrow. “Bea and Dee?”
“I’m just cute like that.” You laugh with him this time. There’s a part of you that wishes you could have seen him before the premiere, given him what you want, but you worry it might have messed with his head. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He sounds so sincere. “I’ve gotta go, but –,”
“Dieter, wait.” Phone clutched tight to your ear, you go deeper into the bowels of the theater, by the door that leads to the cabaret stage. “I, um, I have something to show you later. Nothing serious – and it doesn’t even have to be tonight but I’d like to steal you away for just a bit.” You smirk, trying to get some even footing underneath you, but his silence dries your mouth out. “I-i-if that’s alr–,”
“Say when and where and I’m there.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“A-alright. Then, uh, break a leg.”
He chuckles, right down your neck. “Thanks, Nat. Oh and if I don’t see you until afterwards, you look really nice.”
You swallow around a dry knot of wool in the back of your throat. “Is this where I’m supposed to say, ‘you can’t see me’ and you say, ‘I just know’?”
“You’ve got me all figured out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Bye, Dieter.”
You close your eyes, thumb shaking as you tap the red button on your phone. Every breath catches on the knots of your spine, of the curve of your ribs, as it goes down, hollow, sucked down, only to emerge shredded and weak.
The memory of what had nearly happened the night of the party at Shandy’s, it’s sunk into the crevices of your brain, under the skin behind your forehead, weighing your brow down day by day. It’s there, but you don’t see it. You don’t look. Like a beast in the jungle, you don’t make eye contact, hoping it will pass you by.
Hearing his voice over the phone, teasing you, you swear you hear it growl.
Look up, look up, look up
Look at me
Slipping your phone back in your purse, you straighten your shoulders and march for the old phone booth.
Bea is probably about sixty years old, maybe closer to seventy. Silver hair tucked back in a low bun that makes her dress shine, short unpainted nails press a ratty paperback book into her lap. She adjusts a navel blue sheer shawl around her mache-thin skin when you gently tap the window, smiling. She blinks up at you with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen on a living human being.
What it says about you and Dieter that your therapists could not be more different, is a question you’ll bring up to Carla later on.
You gently push back the accordion door and wave.
“Hi. I’m –,”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she says softly, her smile coy. She bookmarks her page and closes the book – The Jungle by Upton Sinclair – before standing up. Not wanting to offend her, you don’t reach for her unless she seems unsteady, but her walk is confident, if not slow as she exits the phonebooth. “Dieter said a friend of his would come get me.”
Yes, but do you know which friend? Those thin lips swirl up to the corner of her mouth, her eyes playful. “You really are as pretty as he said you were.” Quickly, she adjusts her shawl and offers out her small hand. “Lovely to meet you, dear.”
Mischievous. Like those little elves or sprites. Instantly, you see what Dieter likes about her. You offer her your arm.
“Lovely to meet you too, but I get the feeling you know much more about me than I know about you.”
She pats your arm, that dizzy (fake) bleary old lady glaze going over her eyes. “I don’t know what gave you that impression.”
Above you, the lights flicker and a thrilled anticipation hums from the lobby, those still left eagerly moving to take their seats
“Oh, I’m so excited,” Bea squeals against you.
“You’ve never been to Dieter’s plays before?” You wait until the flow of people lessens, not risking an elbow or an errant shoe.
“He doesn’t let me!” She grouches. “Only recently has he let me see some of his movies. But he picks them out and we have to watch them together. Honestly, that man is such a goof!”
Her blue eyes watching people go by, she doesn’t see you chew your tongue. The man he lets Bea see is so wildly different from the one you knew, or the one you’ve gotten to know the past few months. The idea of just sitting down on the couch with Dieter to watch a movie was once, well, impossible. Now it didn’t seem . . . right. You try to picture this Dieter, this long-haired, relaxed, sober Dieter in a dark room, feet under your covers, laughing – laughter comes so easily to him now – and you couldn’t. Your brain shut the doors and turned off the light. No, no one’s home.
No one’s there.
“He’s a doctor in this one,” you say by way of filling the silence. “Did he tell you that?”
Bea peers up at you, her silver eyebrows arching. “No. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.”
“He’s a small town doctor, in a town on the verge of collapse in the thirties. He’s caught between being responsible for his brother’s kid, who has been drafted just before he’s set to get married, and getting out of the town himself.”
“Ooh, his dramatic roles are so good!” Bea squeals again, squeezing your arm excitedly. You wonder if this is what she does to Dieter’s arm when they watch his movies. The crowd thins, so you lead her down the steps, to the front row that Andrew roped off for special guests. The theater is small, intimate, not space for more than fifty people, but the red velvet seats have been kept in immaculate condition, the Roman-inspired paintings on the ceiling and golden-dusted ceilings kept fresh in gloss and shine. It’s, for lack of a better word, cozy.
Marie is already there with a playbill and her smile fades when she sees you with an old woman on your arm. You shake your head, I’ll tell you later, and help her sit before taking your seat next to Marie.
“Do you miss it?” Bea asks quietly, her eyes on the stage, as the room fades to black.
“Miss what?”
“Acting.” If you were dancing, you would have just tripped. “With him?” And now you’re on your ass, wondering what the hell just happened.
You swallow, those blue eyes so bright and earnest. “Um. Sometimes.”
Bea sighs, rolls her eyes, and pats your hand. “He misses it. Even if he’ll never say anything.”
You don’t ask her to elaborate, because you don’t want to know.
He’s good. They all are.
There is a natural chemistry reflected between the cast that is often so hard to find. The subject matter, the sets, the expertly designed costumes – there is a sense of grounded realism. As Andrew hoped, the audience peers into the lives of a people strapped on a path of destruction. They fall apart as their town does around them. They get in their own way. They sabotage their own happiness again and again out of fear or frustration. Every character is fully realized to the point of anguish, of emotional damage because how could they not see it? How could they possibly continue to live their lives like this? How long do they believe they should suffer?
And beyond this swirling chaos of painfully human failure are the mobile walls you designed. They evolve, transform under expertly placed light, shadows increasing or decreasing depending on a blue or red light. The old Greek plays had The Chorus, omniscient watchers that took pity on the tragedy but were unable to stop it. Andrew’s play had your designs; silent, overbearing smears of sadness or grief or joy just out of reach. In such a grounded play, the walls added a sense of vivid delusion, waking madness, providing a razor’s edge of tension to every scene.
Dieter’s character is morally flawed. Tired and run down by this world that’s given him nothing, no hope; stealing from his patients when he conducts housecalls to pay for this “escape” that never comes. At first he has no interest in saving the skin of his nephew, not willing to risk imprisonment over a fake diagnosis, but he, like the audience, is forced to bear silent witness to the genuine, deep, honest love between his brother’s son and his sweetheart, played by Emily.
They sit at a kitchen table, the set painted a light green, the wood chipped and window glass cracked above the grimy sink. The night before he is meant to be drafted, Dieter’s doctor in the corner trying desperately to appear unaffected as his nephew goes through his will to his sweetheart and his uncle, so that in case of the inevitable, they know what his final wishes are.
The boy is choked up, nervous, reading through every word with an agonized sob. His hands that hold Emily’s are shaking, as silent tears stream down her face.
And then in a truly beautiful stroke of theater production, the boy pauses, and a recorded voiceover of him continues to read the will. But he stands, Emily and Dieter frozen in time behind him, and gently kisses Emily on the forehead, his eyes shut and face wet. He lets go, and turns to the audience.
The voice over fades to a low hum as he stands at the center of the stage. The boy is mere feet from you. He watches Emily over his shoulder.
“There are things I want to say to you, but I can’t. I think you already know them, but saying it out loud would only make things worse, not better. I would be saying them to be selfish, to unburden my own soul, by weighing down yours. But you know, right? You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.” He goes to her, still frozen, still curled up on the table, her eyes seeing nothing. He strokes her cheek, getting on his knees to look into her visionless eyes. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close. I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”
He drops his head onto her hands. The reading of the will ends and the lights hold, just a bit longer on the doomed couple.
“Are you okay?” Bea whispers, touching your arm and dropping back into your own body, you stare forcefully at your lap, begging the tears to stay back.
A cold sweat breaks out across your forehead, down the skin on your back, sucking your dress’s zipper to your spine. The blood in your ears roars, thunderous and loud, and you know you’re breathing unevenly, but you can’t help it.
You nod, wishing she would look away.
You feel green, feel pale, like something is molding inside of you, sickly blue sprouting around your spine and into your stomach. A sickness, an illness, lying dormant for years.
It’s still there, you understand that now.
The beast in the jungle, you meet it straight on, knowing the truth of it from the very beginning. But to what end – where would the self-inflicted circle of missed opportunities and failure finally end?
To unburden my soul, by weighing down yours.
The lobby is loud, dozens of voices overlapping each other in an excited chatter, the crowd . You bring Bea to one of the long, low benches near the twin sets of double doors at the entrance, careful to take her out of the rush of the crowd.
She groans as she sits down and eases her feet out of her silver flats.
“I do not miss the days of heels,” she says with a sigh, rolling her ankles around. “But is it too much to ask that they make nice shoes that don’t chew up your feet?”
“My mother used to say that was the price you pay for being a woman.” You sit down next to her, watching Marie chat with the art director across the room. “It’s not supposed to feel good, she said.”
Bea shrugs. “I suppose that’s true, but seems like a terrible way to look at life. A cycle of reward and punishment.”
You grin wryly at her. “My mother was a pessimist.”
“And you?” She leans back, her thin hands on her lap. “Are you a pessimist or an optimist?”
“I’m trying to break the cycle of reward and punishment.” Your eyes unconsciously fall to the door to the theater. “But old habits die hard, I guess.”
An excited roar sparks from across the room, the crowd surging towards the double doors. You see Emily’s shining blonde hair between shoulders, her bright smile. You can’t see him, but he’s there, you know it. So you sit back with Bea, matching her easy position.
“I know my old bones couldn’t fight off that crowd,” she nudges you with her elbow. “But you should go.”
A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes.
One way or another, it will be over soon. There is a sense of peace with that, whatever the outcome.
You shrug. “I’m just fine right here.”
So you sit, with your ex’s former therapist and closest thing he has to family because his are all gone, or they hate him. You ask her about Upton Sinclair, and she asks you about what you do, and you tell her about the gallery. The two of you could have been sitting on a bench in Central Park, for all the hurry you take, exchanging questions and answers.
Reporters ask for his picture, vloggers using their livestream to ask him about the role. You and Bea watch him, never talking about him, but never looking away either.
He’s handsome. He always is. Hair slicked back, eyes still ringing with black. He smiles and performs and you wonder if he’s a good enough actor to pretend to want to almost kiss you. His suit jacket is a deep red, almost purple, a perfect color for a December premiere. He turns, leaning into a photo with a few of his castmates and you see it – a flicker of dark green on his lapel. A glass leaf, the same color as your dress.
You fight to hide your blush, your assumptions really and truly getting out of hand, and you ask Bea about where she’s from. Eventually, Marie comes and joins you two, and her eyebrows jump only slightly when you tell her Bea’s connection to Dieter.
The congregated crowd of media and fans alike eventually subsides, leaving just friends and family. Andrew finally comes out and an applause goes up. He’s pink and his eyes are a little bleary and you think he might have started celebrating a bit early. Toby holds his hand and he leans into it, smiling like a fool.
You hear a buzz about an afterparty through excited grins and one-armed hugs, the news met with nods or groans. The last stragglers linger, wandering out into the cold or into waiting cars. The lobby is flushed with cold air every time the double doors swing open. Marie has gone to pick up your coats, including Bea’s, her wrap doing nothing for warmth, and you lean your head back against the wall.
You’ve been rehearsing something in your head since this morning, a final script, the end to the scene. Nothing fits quite right and you wish you’d written it down, but that risked someone finding your batherings. Maybe you’ll journal later, to get down everything in your head, everything you can’t say or don’t know how.
The crowd thins, and a few more flashes go off, and then he’s coming towards you, arms outstretched.
“Bea!”
The old woman wrestles to her feet with a speed you hadn’t witnessed all night and Dieter envelopes her in his arms. Without context, the image is sweet, domestic: a boy and his mother.
Then she steps back and messes up his perfectly combed hair. “There – that’s the Dieter I know.”
You swear he blushes.
“I have had a lovely evening with your friends!” Bea says, holding his hand and giving you and Marie warm smiles.
Marie out of the blue rushes forward and nearly tackles him to the ground. “You were so good, Dieter!”
His eyes widen before his arms come around her waist, squeezing her so tight he lifts her off the ground.
“Mhmm! Thank you! Thank you for coming. And now I promise to return your business partner to you. No more painting backdrops until midnight.”
She slips off him, as his eyes drop to you, the warmth there softer than the velvet chairs. He reaches for you and all of existence narrows to his palm. You take it and he pulls you into his chest.
He smells like your old Dieter. That layered musk of charcoal and vanilla, of sweet tobacco and sweat. Of course, he wears cologne, expensive and rich, but you turn your nose to his neck and inhale – it’s still there. Somewhere. His hands fall to your hips, your low back, then they’re sliding up your dress, cupping your ribcage against his. You pull him tighter to you, the scruff of his beard rough against your cheek as you breathe each other in. It happened accidentally, but this is the hug you should have given him all those months ago – one that allows for joy, for remembrance, for an ease that only comes after two people have learned the other intimately, where so much of one exists within the other, their own hearts cannot decide where one ends and the other begins.
He presses his warm hand against your shoulder, tucking you farther and farther in, as the other hand spans across your entire back, his face burrowed in your neck. You feel him sigh, at ease, his ribs expanding into yours and you fight back the sharp swell of the sob caught in your throat. You had no idea what it meant to be held until this moment.
You don’t want to let him go. You don’t think you can.
But the double doors sweep open, drafting in the cool air and stronger, prevailing thoughts. Your chin trembles at the strength it takes to keep from pressing your lips against his cheek as you set your weight back on your heels, his hands resisting your release until the very last moment. He doesn’t let you fall or drop you; he eases you back down, away. But his hands are shaking and he steadies them around your elbows and you take his because you think your knees will buckle if you don’t keep touching him. His mouth makes a wet noise, his eyes on the ground, feet shuffling back. He holds you as though the room is spinning.
“Um, Dieter,” Marie’s voice comes in from far away as you fight the urge to bury your body up under his chest, to lift him up with every ounce of strength you possess. “There’s an afterparty . . .”
“But I’d rather like to go home first, darling. If that’s alright,” Bea says. “Dieter?”
You watch his throat convulse and he stands up right. He lets go of you entirely.
“Sorry,” he swallows, resolutely not looking at you, “just got a little lightheaded. Haven’t eaten much today. Bea, can I call you a cab?”
“Do you want to go to the party?” Marie asks you as Dieter guides Bea over to the front desk. “Andrew’s invited us.”
You shake your head, watching them go. It has to end tonight. It has to.
“I . . . can’t. There’s something I need to talk to Dieter about.” You tear your eyes away to her concerned face. “Shouldn’t be long, but after that I’m gonna go to bed. I’m exhausted after four months of this.”
She nods like she knows it's been much longer than that. She hugs you, pulls you in tight, her mouth tucked in by your ear and says, “don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you were never going to be just friends.”
You don’t make eye contact with her when she pulls away.
Ten minutes later, Bea and Marie have decided to share a cab, Bea’s hotel on the way to Marie’s apartment. You and Dieter stand on the curb, waving to them as they go. The snow is coming on thick now. A few catch on his lashes as he turns to look at you.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party?” You ask.
He shakes his head. “There’ll be others. What did you want to show me?”
Age has done nothing to rob him of his beauty. You think you hope it hasn’t robbed him of anything else.
The creaky door of your brownstone greets you as you lead him inside, cheeks blushed pink from the cold, fingertips slightly numb, the metal keys in your hand bitterly chilled. You fumble for a few lights, cursing yourself that you left your home in total darkness hours earlier. The warm overhead lights awaken your living room, then the dining room across the hall. You’re grumbling to yourself and completely oblivious to Dieter’s open-mouthed stare. You’re leaning against the wall, fighting with your heel as he walks into your aubergine-colored living room with the plush gray couches and wall-to-wall bookshelves.
“I want to look at every single one of these,” he says softly, fingers curled around your chenille throw blanket on the back of the sofa. “Have I read any of them?”
“If your reading tastes are anything like Bea’s, then probably,” you grin at him as you finally slip out of your heels. You fight the urge to groan, your feet flat against the hardwood, sensation finally returning to your toes, but you do sigh. The noise brings his attention to you and he smiles.
“You do look beautiful.”
Your toes visibly curl and you feel the smile slide off your face. You nod over your shoulder.
“C’mon. It’s in here.”
He follows you through the other open-archway rooms to the kitchen, where the box from your basement sits on the counter. It’s gray, unassuming, with little buckles as adornments on the corners. Something about it feels weathered, hard won, as if it had been shipped across the ancient sea by long-dead ancestors.
The lights are low here, hovering low on the dimmer switch. You always thought kitchens should be relaxing, comforting, so you rarely brighten the room unless you have to. Behind you, Dieter unbuttons his jacket as you grip the lid.
“Now, you can’t laugh,” you say, a playful curl to your lips. He mimes an ‘x’ over his heart.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’ve had these for a while, collecting them as I came across them. At first, it seemed almost morbid, but – I don’t know – I took comfort in them. As time went on, it helped me remember that everything that happened back then, actually happened and wasn’t just some insane LSD trip.” You thumb a corner. “At least it wasn’t for me.”
His brow deepens as you take off the lid.
He blinks a few times, trying to understand what he’s looking at. You wait, sit down on a black stool, watching.
Newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. Online articles printed and cut out.
He takes a few out, his fingers running over the corners where yours have gone a dozen times.
“Are these . . .”
“They’re all about Recovery Road. Speculation pieces on why it should win an Oscar, or several, even before it premiered. First reviews and public, consumer reviews. Trades on Heidi’s directing career, the cinematographers, the music for the film.” Your bare toes could brush his shoes if you swung your leg forward just an inch. “Opinion pieces on my career . . . and yours.” The knot in his throat moves as he flips through, going back ten years to the first articles. You watch his masculine hand, thick veins and weighty palm. “I know we didn’t make Oscar night, Dieter, and I don’t know if you ever stopped to celebrate. I know I didn’t, even years later. So this became my little celebration and in light of your success tonight, I thought you might like to celebrate with me.”
He spreads a few out on the counter, the strange shapes of cut-out articles like lost puzzle pieces. His mouth is a straight line, those thick eyebrows drawn down, jaw set tight.
“That night was the worst night of my life, Natalie. I don’t know why you want to remember it.”
His voice is rough, cutting, comes from a place at the back of his chest. Your heart sinks.
You’ve gotten it all wrong.
“Oh. Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I thought . . . well, actually I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, dispelling any lingering illusions you may have, and brush together the articles he laid out, jumping to your feet. “This was a stupid idea. I can’t believe I thought this would be fun. I took you away from your afterparty to show you this ridiculous –,”
His big hand loops around your wrist and you freeze, the warmth of his palm exploding up your arm and into your cheeks. Dieter looks at you with a weight so profound you feel as though you could plunge through the floorboards.
“I lied to you.” He says gruffly. “Ten fucking minutes into seeing you again and I lied.” He works his jaw as his hand slides up to your forearm, then your elbow where it notches over the bend in your arm. “I know I said I thought we’d be better off if we never saw each other again, but that’s not true. Every day until you were released from that hospital, I begged Heidi for any news. On your health. On your withdrawals. On if you got out of the fucking bed that day. And then after you got out and into rehab, I asked Heidi to check in on you. But I knew it had to fucking stop. I had to fucking stop wanting things to be different because I didn’t think they could be. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Your bottom lip trembles. “And now? Now, do you think things could be different?”
The lines around his eyes tighten as he straightens up. But he still holds your arm like it's the last life raft in a cold black ocean. He turns his head, an imperceptible tilt.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you want it to be?”
“Dieter,” you cry out, out of breath before you open your mouth, air held captive in your chest. You’re crying and you don’t mean to be. You sway as you violently shake your head and he grabs your other elbow. You reach forward and steady yourself with both hands on his biceps. There’s no way you can say this with your eyes open. “Dieter . . . for months now, everyone’s been asking me if I need space from you, or if it’s alright with me to be alone with you. If everything is still too painful to be around you, like I need protecting from you or something. But I – I don’t know how to tell them . . . that’s all I want. I want you. Even after everything, after how fucked up it was, how fucked up we both were, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
It comes out in a rush, words and tears tumbling out of your mouth. You open your wet eyes to his lips parted in surprise, his face soft beneath the weight of your revelation. You inhale, more tears and more courage to say the things you’ve always wanted to say. No paper, no pen, no going back.
“Dieter, I think about that house in Albuquerque all the time. I wake up and I think I can smell you in the kitchen. Or you’ll be out on the patio, painting. I know you and I went our separate ways – and I think that’s what was best for us then – but God, you never went away. You never, ever left.”
You tighten your grip, nails digging into his lovely jacket. Staring at his throat, locked in by memories, you want to drag him to the floor and cry in his arms, the way you should have on that hospital bed.
In the silence, your gaze drifts, down his chest and over to his lapel.
That green leaf pendant. The color of your dress. You thumb it and it’s warm, like his heart sits just behind it.
Unexpectedly, his wide palm rests against your jaw, tilting your head up. Eyes warm and dark like the dying coal in a wood-stove, he brushes your cheek with his thumb. You don’t realize how cold you are until your face is held in his hand.
“I’m gonna fuck it up if I say anything,” he says quietly, to you and you alone, “so I’m just going to do this.”
In an instant, years and years and years of buried fear come screaming into your chest. That single most profound worry you carried with you since he first kissed you the night of the rainstorm – dug it deep, covered with ignorance and a blind eye – it emerges like a seed sprouting into the light when his lips touch yours.
You fold up into him, this fear, this concern pulling you up as he does.
You feared, in all this time and all these years, that the great love of your life, the end-all-be all to romance and adoration, had been nothing more than a misguided, lonely girl giving away parts of her to unworthy holders – drugs, alcohol, addiction, and Dieter fucking Bravo, the first man who taught her there was something special about sex and feelings and not being alone in the darkness.
You break apart from him, trembling in his arms. You’re crying again and you think he might be too, but it’s too blurry and it’s too much.
“Dieter, w-wait–,” you grip his lapels, unwilling to separate his chest from yours, the press of his hips against yours. “W-what if we are wrong? What if I was wrong – what I felt for you, what I feel for you, everything we had – it’s just – a-a mistake. What if what you feel for me, is just more psychosis, more pills we have to swallow to fix it, fix us? F-f-fix me? What if you never really loved me?”
With a groan, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your cheek, the ghost of teeth against the fine hairs on your skin.
“If what I feel for you isn’t love, then I don’t know what it is.” His arms sink across your low back, as if pulling you in as tight as he could make you understand with touch alone, send you his thoughts unfiltered and honest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, wet and frantic, and then your cheek and then again on your mouth. It’s wet and messy and he pulls away, just inches, to say: “I’ve loved you every day of the past ten years. I never stopped loving you. You were the only thing I ever got right.”
A soft cry escapes your mouth, hand on his cheek, as you tug him back into your mouth. Your lips barely part at the touch of his teeth, before he slips into your mouth, tongue massaging yours.Your nails scrape the back of his neck, the curve of his skull, fingers delightedly yanking on his longer, wilder hair. Everywhere he touches you, it’s insistent, determined to make you feel his love. He breathes harshly out of his nose when he palms your ass in his wide hands and you allow yourself to rub up against him, as if you didn’t own every inch of him already.
Even through your dress and his slacks, the heat of your cunt up against his half-hard length is enough to have you both gasping for air. Breathing doesn’t really work right, lungs stuttering, half-aborted gasps through hiccups.
His hand curls around your jaw and he kisses you again. You no longer need to breathe air that hasn’t been recycled by him first.
“I’m so fucking scared,” he murmurs against your lips, half-open eyes searching for hesitation, for rejection.
“Me too.”
You claw at him, and still sucking on your mouth, he rolls your dress up over your knees, up to your hips. His hands on your bare skin for the first time in a decade, he cups the back of your knees, tugging you up onto his chest.
“Where?” He mutters.
“Upstairs. Second door on your right.”
You spend the time it takes to get there familiarizing yourself with every curve of his mouth, the softness on the inside of his cheeks, where along his neck elicits the deepest groan when you use your teeth.
Memories whisper like ghosts – he likes it there, lick here and listen to him, bite, yes, bite – you slip his earlobe between your teeth, nipping just north of gently, and he falters.
“You got this?” You tease, nosing under his jaw, as he makes the landing.
“If this place was blown to bits,” he grumbles as he knees open your bedroom door, “I’d still find a way to fuck you on this mattress.”
Kneeling one leg at a time, he unfolds you on the covers, hands free to roam against your hips, your ass, the backs of your thighs. Your nails scratch through his hair one last time before he sits up.
Your bedroom is dark, blue in the winter, and the only light to see him by comes from down the hallway and over the banister. In the half-light, Dieter glows, a faint bright edge to his hair, his right arm as he slips it out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. It lands somewhere and you don’t hear it, don’t look, instead watch his fingers unbutton his collar, tugging the starched shirt out of his pants.
Mesmerized, you want to tell him to stop, that you want to do it, but you can’t. You have and always be spell-bound by Dieter Bravo. He gets off his outer shirt and that’s when you realize how hard he’s breathing, the shadows blurring the pink tinge on his skin.
“Dieter, baby,” you worry, reaching for him and he comes, collapsing on his trembling elbows. He kisses you with a wet mouth.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this. You’re so fucking beautiful. You look like a fucking angel, on this bed, in this dress and I never thought I’d ever be here with you again.” His chest shakes and you pull him between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of his head. He buries his head in the curve of your neck, grasping at your back with his arms.
You together lie there for a minute, in the silence and comfort that is afforded those nestled in intimacy. He fits, so well, like no one else ever has. Bones touch bones, his space is filled by your joints, his blood warms where you are cold. Disjointed and broken, you slot together in holes made by the other. You stroke his hair and he pulls back. The grin that grows across his face causes tears to spill down the apples of his cheeks.
“You’re a fucking hurricane, baby, and I love you.” He holds your cheek in his palm, softly pressing a kiss to your lips. “Can I take off your tights?”
You nod, swallowing thickly, the anticipation of having his hands on your skin making you twitch.
He kneels away from you and one hand slides up the material of your dress while the other reverently plucks at the tight waistband of your nylons. He tugs gently, then using both hands, knuckles scraping your hips, your thighs. He touches the back of your knee and that fear resurfaces just for a moment.
“Be careful, Dieter,” you gasp. He slows, catching your eyes. “P-please be careful.”
The rest of your nylons come off easily while he nods, his thumbs briefly rubbing the material before they’re tossed to the ground. The night air is suddenly cold, colder than it had been seconds ago and you shiver, your dress around your hips and your cunt nearly exposed.
Dieter crawls forward, settling around between your knees. It’s like he can smell how wet you are. His big palm cups your inner thigh, thumb directing his attention.
“Do you still like to be licked here?”
You nod fervently, almost bashful.
“Has anyone eaten you out in a while?”
Again, your head jerks back and forth in the opposite direction, your hand clutching his knee and the other fisting the sheets.
“Can I?” His stare flickers from your barely visible pussy up to your eyes. He’s all but begging you.
His gaze reawakes your voice. “Yes, Dieter, please – p-please, I need it.”
His tongue wets his lips, eyes half-open, focused, as he pushes your dress up the rest of the way. You part your legs for him and he groans with appreciation.
“Jesus Christ, baby.” He shuffles back, easing onto his knees on the floor, big palms around the hinge of your legs. He tugs you as he goes, until your hips have settled on the edge of the mattress.
His mouth drops open at the shine on your inner thighs and as though too overwhelmed to go straight for the center, he licks as close to your cunt as he can, eager for your taste. His hands on your hips tighten as he groans, inhaling deeply.
“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”
You have half a second to breathe yourself before he licks, flat-tongued, up your cunt and the edges of your vision grow dark.
He picks you apart, slowly, methodically, explorative. He licks like he’s trying to get an ice cream cone to come all over his face.
Dieter tongues one lip, then the other and he has your hips shaking. He digs in, suctioning his mouth to your cunt, and flicks his tongue as far as he can and you twitch. He slurps in spit and slick between his teeth before presenting it back to you on the head of his tongue.
“Oh, fucking god, Dieter –,” you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I can’t believe how good –,”
He licks as deep as he can, all the way up, air muffled by your folds, and flat-tongues your clit. Your vision whites out and you scream. But you didn’t come. That wasn’t you coming. Your legs are trembling and Dieter presses his forearm against your lower tummy, eyes scorching and scolding. Stop moving and let me work.
As you relearn him, he rediscovers you. He knows there’s a spot, just around your clit that when sucked, it makes you arch off the bed, but he searches in no hurry, divining every inch of you again. He gets close and you tremble, so he pushes your knee back, opening you up further to slide in two fingers. So much more than anything you could put inside yourself, you roll your hips as much as you can, chasing that touch as his tongue sweeps over you again and again. He taps up against your pelvic bone through your pussy and you moan, loudly, pleasure soaking his fingers, then his palm. His dark eyes watch you from where his mouth works to suck ten years of missed orgasms right out of you.
You want him to fuck you faster, to get you there in a way only he can, brushing places only he can find, only he dares reach. He licks you faster and faster, fingers plunging deeper and twisting, spreading you apart – he adds a third just before entering you again and again and again and then he finds it – that spot on your clit that breaks you apart, that warm gooey center exploding across his tongue.
You come in silence, sparks flickering at the edge of your vision, mouth open, pussy clenching down on him, and only when you feel the vibrations of his moan between your legs, do you remember to breathe, gasping sharply to the high-pitched edge of a whine.
“Dieter,” you pant, voice strained, knees weak as you push against his shoulders. Your clit stings a bit from overstimulation and he relents. He wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, inching up the bed, with your knee over his shoulder, still three fingers deep in you.
“C’mon, honey, you can give me one more like this. I know you can.”
You whimper, never having a single orgasm like that in the last ten years, let alone two. “I don’t – I don’t think I can –,”
“Of course you can.” The wet squelch of his fingers scissoring inside of you proves him right. “I’ve got you, darling, I’ve got you and I’m never letting you fucking go again.”
He licks under your knee, beard still damp with your release, and Dieter does what he does best: he talks.
He promises you filthy, beautiful things.
I wanna be soaked in you. I want you to come so hard, it drips down my arm, wets my chest.
I wanna put my tongue on every inch of your sweat-drenched skin. I wanna taste you. All of you. In you. I wanna make you so full, that when I fuck you, I taste myself.
I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .
“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, your cunt squeezing his fingers so hard they can’t move, and you gush, all the way to his elbow.
You can’t see for a second, the sound of your pounding heart in your ears the only proof you’re still alive. It’s like your body has been storing it all for him, never doing this for anyone else, so you keep coming and coming. Dieter groans, drops his head, and licks up as much as he can, but you feel your own slick slip down your ass and stain your dress. You whine as he slips his fingers out of you.
“Ohmy– oh – oh – oh fuck, Dieter,” you garble. Your entire lower half is numb. You don’t realize you’re shaking until he’s stretched out both of your legs, hand gently massaging your thighs. He licks his palm, his forearm, trying to clean himself up, but never once taking his eyes off you.
“Good, baby?”
You nod, blinking back the sparks of light whirling across your vision. “So good. So, so good.”
“I have a lot to make up for. Where’s the clasp to your dress?”
“In – In the back,” you swallow, hand flopping around to indicate some direction.
“I’m going to turn you around, okay, baby?”
He takes you by the hip, the shoulder, and curls you onto your side. His thumb pressed up against the cup of your skull, warm and grounding, he unzips your dress, the sound loud in the silence. Easing you as he goes, he rolls you until you’re face down on the mattress and he can peel the dress off your shoulders. Somewhere behind you, he makes a noise at the sight of your bare back.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Heat drapes across your back as he leans down and kisses from the back of your neck, down your spine and lingers at the place just above the curve of your ass. He harshly palms your thighs, the meat of your butt, groaning, promising and marking places for his teeth. Your breathing hitches as you slide your dress off your arms. He meets your hands and helps you pull it down the rest of the way, over your knees and off the bed.
You should be cold, shivering, but you aren’t. Not when his hands start over your calves, gripping them soft enough that he can move unhindered, but tight enough it's almost a massage. He goes up the backs of your knees, curves around your thighs, fingers dip into the bones of your hip. The mattress dips as he lays out behind you, over you, fingers tugging you back until there’s enough space for him to slip his hand between you and the mattress, his knee prying your legs apart. He cups you, biting the curve of your ear, and you gasp for him. He plugs you up with two fingers, still so wet he meets no resistance and he growls in your neck.
“There’s this image of you that I swear to god is painted on the backs of my eyelids,” he murmurs, fucking you lazily with his fingers. You fist the sheets, arm shaking to keep yourself tilted enough to give him room. You can feel his hot, thick, solid cock against the back of your thigh, his own body heat enough to make you sweat. He touches a place that makes you gasp and his hips twitch forward. You want more, more heat, more of him, his white undershirt sticking to your back. You want to feel him. You push your hips back and he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “I see it when I wake up and when I go to sleep at night and it used to fucking kill me because that was all I had left of you.” He speeds up, his wrist snapping against your pelvis. “But then – then, it – it gave me comfort, because I got to see you all the time. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t enough but god, it got me through the worst of it.”
You can feel your core tighten, pleasure spiral down and in on itself, a single spark away from exploding, as he goes faster and faster.
“I fucking need you–,” he whines in your ear, chest smothering your back, knuckle rubbing up against your clit.
“Dieter, take off your fucking shirt –,”
You lunge forward, out of his grasp, his fingers dragging wet slick over your hip as you roll away from him. His hands frantically yank his shirt up and over his head as you work the button on his pants, unzipping him in a rush. You’ve barely gotten his pants down over his knees when he grabs you by the elbow, yanking you into his mouth, his lap. Your shared moans coat the inside of your mouths, lips pressed swollen and hot, teeth nipping and pulling. Separating only to breathe, he hauls your knee over his hip, pulling you as close as he can, his cock red and leaking into your stomach.
You roll your hips forward, your soaked cunt clutching around his cock and he sways, breaking apart, to open mouth-groan.
“C-condom?”
“Don’t want one. There hasn’t been anyone but you.”
“Me neither.”
You snake a hand between your heated bodies and pump him once. Again and he whines. A third time and you push him back, flat against the mattress, his body thumping into the pillows. His thumbs press into the curve of your hips, up your waist, fingers slotting between your ribs.
But his eyes are latched onto your nipples.
“And these tits, baby,” he cups the weight of one while thumbing across the raised nipple of the other. You arch your spine, letting him do whatever he wants, while you pump him slowly, and swirl your clit with your other fingers. “Been obsessed with them. Fucking dream about them. Wanna spend a whole day with my mouth on them.”
“Well, I wanna spend a whole day on this cock. Dieter, fuck, your cock is fantastic.” It’s thick and long and you lick a mix of precum and spit into your hand to coat all of him.
“Yeah, you missed my big cock?” Hips bucking inches off the mattress, his eyes fall half-shut, almost black with hunger. “Show me, baby, show me how much you missed me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Despite his filthy mouth, his breathing hitches when you go onto your knees, hand holding him beneath you as you adjust to find your entrance. He breaths so sharply, you glance at him, the head of his cock just inches from your cunt. His chest is flushed and sweaty. The roundness of his stomach trembles, the hair there pressed flat and wet. The hair at his temples and across his hairline is damp, beautiful curls tossed back from his face. Eyes warm, his lips are wet with anticipation.
“I missed you, Nat,” he says quietly, suddenly. His fingers squeeze your thighs and his words catch as you notch just the head inside you, the fat head splitting you apart. “I m-m-missed you so-oh much.”
Wanting nothing but to feel every inch, you take your hand away and find his forearm to steady yourself. The deeper you take him, the higher your whine goes.
“Fuck, Natalie, fuck –,” his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw tight, as you gasp towards the ceiling, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fuck, you feel – you are –,”
“Dieter –,”
Your hips drop, his twitching below you, and you take in every ridge, every throbbing vein. You don’t mean to tease, but he’s so big and it’s been so long since you’d taken him, you have to sink as slow as possible. His grip almost bruising, he wants nothing more than to yank you down on his cock, but he holds, waits, lets you adjust, even though his chest is red and he hasn’t taken a full breath in a minute.
You inhale as you finally take all of him inside you, flush to his hips, his lap already wet, that low simmering heat swirling out from every place his cock rubs up inside of you.
“Natalie–,” he chokes.
It’s been too long.
You thrust forward, riding him hard and setting a pace that startles even you. A loud groan roars through him and his hands around your hips yank you back and forth with just as much force, as much want. Arousal climbs higher and higher, your shared pants and moans a catalyst for fire.
“Natalie,” he tries and you open your eyes. His face is flushed now too, eyes wet. “Natalie, I can’t stop thinking – the last time we were like this – I did – I said –,”
He whimpers as you slow and lean over him. You cup his cheeks with both hands, thumb tugging down his bottom lip. You kiss him, mouth slotting over his. “Don’t think about that, baby. Stay here with me. Be with me.”
He nods frantically, gasping as you jerk your hips just right, and you nuzzle his nose before building back your speed, that heart-stopping pace. He intertwines his fingers with yours, offering himself to hold onto as you both race towards release, his hips rhythmically bouncing against yours.
But you can’t help it either. Flashing across your memory like fireworks, you’re overwhelmed with images of you and him either in this exact position or a dozen others. On top of a desk, in a car, against a wall, behind, under, in front – every way he would make you take him again and again. You dip forward, just a bit, remembering that angle that made his knees quake – and apparently still does.
“Oh, fuck, baby –,”
Bits and pieces of old fantasies slide in between the gaps in your memory – the time you tried to picture his face when you sat on your new vibrator you gifted yourself on your twenty-sixth birthday – the time you finger-fucked yourself in the bathtub, hopelessly trying to find that spongy spot he used to stroke – it was not agonizingly enough.
It was nothing like him begging you to never, ever leave. You ride him hard and fast because tomorrow isn’t promised and it might never come.
His thumb on your bottom lip and his voice pry your eyes open. Your thighs quake from the strain, ratcheting that thunderous pleasure up every knot of your spine. You’re sweating so much you think you might melt off his cock.
The bed squeaks, as you grind yourself against him, his hand still on your face.
“I fucking love you.” He breathes through, open-mouthed, a spike of pleasure, his hair plastered against his forehead. You think you might come from the look of pure adoration in his eyes alone, but you white-knuckle your approaching orgasm, just as you know he is. “You’re made for me. This cunt is made for me.”
Every inch of you is fire hot. You gaze down at him and take your thumb between your teeth, nipping gently, your hands balanced against his stomach.
“I am yours, Dieter. I’ve never wanted anything else. Never.”
He swallows, eyes impossibly dark and deep, staring up at you like you hang the moon and stars, like you are solely responsible for the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins.
Dieter jerks up to kiss you, his hand cupping the back of your head, nails lightly scratching into your hair. The force of him stills your hips and you kiss him back, arms around his neck, but does nothing to quench that roaring blaze in your cunt.
His arm drops from your head, goes around your back, the other catching your hips against his and he flips you both, nestling you against the covers. He pins your arms above your head and thrusts into you, setting a pace that has your eyes rolling back your head. You whimper.
“You are the only thing I’ve ever loved,” he grunts into your neck, his voice low as it kisses your skin. His pace is punishing, chasing whatever haunted him at night those years he was apart from you. You pin your knees to his ribs, welcoming him deeper and deeper. “I want to be yours. I want to be yours until the day I fucking die.”
“You are, Dieter, you are.”
The sound that comes from his chest, echoing in your ear, and seeps into your bones finally pushes you over the edge. White-hot lightning strikes you between your legs, a warm, milky wave rocking you flat on your back as your cunt clenches down on him. He shouts, loudly, his back tense as he spills inside of you a second later. You can feel him soak the inside of you, his cock twitching under the pressure of your still-tight cunt.
His hips pump once, twice more, his body eager to empty him out entirely, and then he stills.
The sound of your shared heavy breathing, between the sweaty, throbbing mass of your bodies, is the only sound in the bedroom, stretching on for minutes at a time.
You have never felt so close to a person as you do right now. You can feel his heart pounding against his chest as it sits above yours. Your skin, damp with sweat, clings to his. This is where you want to be, for the rest of your life.
Slowly, as fast as his shaking arms will allow, Dieter lifts up to look you in the eyes, breath still heavy in his lungs. He’s red, pushed to the limit of exertion and then beyond that. His hair is a damp mess and his skin is so warm it almost burns.
But he’s smiling.
As your breathing returns to normal, even if it might take hours to wash yourselves clean, he smiles at you and you smile back because all it took was time.
Time, some therapy, and some space apart to find out what truly matters. What only matters. If nothing we do matters, this is the only thing that does.
You don’t have to speak because he knows what you’re thinking. Grinning through a half-chuckle, he kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. With a sigh, you wrap your arms around him as he gingerly tucks his head under your chin, and rests his cheek against your chest. You play with his hair.
The night stretches on, the snow falls harder outside. Eventually, you end up under the covers, Dieter Bravo is in love with you and you love him back.
He taps his fingers against your hip, absent-mindedly, to a beat you don’t recognize. And then his chest vibrates over yours, the sound sinking into yours, as he hums the chorus to Here You Come Again.
When you wake up, hours later, sleep overtaking you at some point during the night, you open your eyes to gold sunlight streaming in through the curtains and his back to you. His arm tucked under his head, curls askew on the pillow, and you feel him breath against the mattress.
Hesitantly, slowly, you reach forward, hand trembling, across the small space between your bodies –
And you touch his shoulder. He’s solid. He’s real. He’s here.
He shudders awake, groaning sleepily, as he turns over, his brown eyes greeting yours with all the joy of the sun.
He touches your cheek and you smile.
Epilogue
The wooden tracks of the rollercoaster vibrate violently as the cars lurch over the railings and down the slope. Screams of delight are lost beneath the gentle melody of the merry-go-round, its lights bright against the late evening sky. People wander between the tents and the booths, stopping to play a round of hunt-the-duck or to throw a ball at empty milk bottles. The smell of popcorn and candy hangs thick in the warm summer air.
Dieter adjusts the giant stuffed bear on his back, eyes surveying their next target on the Coney Island pier.
“Ice cream me, babe.”
Your arm juts out and smears vanilla-chocolate swirl across his mouth and he sputters.
Your eyes jump up from your phone, embarrassed to have been so distracted, and you immediately go to wipe his lips, his own hands busy keeping the bear up right.
“Sorry, sorry!”
He grins as you blot his mouth and chin. His tongue swipes out and licks your palm.
“It’s okay, only if you use your mouth next time.”
You roll your eyes as you toss away the used napkins. This time you hold the cone properly so he can lick his fill.
“What’s so important on your phone that you nearly drown me in ice cream?”
A summer breeze, hot off the waves of the ocean, strokes your hair, tugging it over your eyes. You push it back, frowning.
“Netflix emailed us, wanting to know if we wanted to be a part of the documentary about the making of Recovery Road.”
“And you think that’s a bad idea?” He asks, catching an errant dribble before it smears across your fingers.
“I don’t know. It just feels like dredging up things that are better left in the past.”
“Netflix’s specialty.”
You frown at him and he grins. “No one’s ever officially gone on record about what happened and now maybe we should. Set the record straight.”
“I don’t think we’ll come out of it looking very good,” you worry your lip. “Besides, if we’re being interviewed, shouldn’t Chloe get a chance to tell her side too?”
Dieter shrugs. “She can if she wants. But the story is ultimately about you and me. Besides, they just want the juicy gossip about all of our wild and crazy infidelity sex.”
“Dieter!”
With a chuckle, he drops the bear between the two of you, so he can look you properly in the eyes without a paw over his face.
“Baby, I’ll do whatever you want to do. If you want to do it, great. If not, fuck ‘em. I don’t care how it makes us seem, because no matter what, they’ll never know the true story.” He takes your hand that is not holding an ice cream cone, sticky fingers and all, and kisses your knuckles. “You and I are so beyond Netflix documentaries, or tell-all exposés – or whatever constitutes a love story in Hollywood. What I feel for you, no one could ever do it justice.”
He sees your chest stutter for breath, your eyes soft as he kisses your palm.
“They’d never understand the man you’ve become,” you say quietly. “What it took to get here.”
He nods, hand sliding to your cheek, your neck, and pulls you in. “This is it for me.”
“Me too.”
The jingle of the carnival around you, the roar of the rollercoaster in the distance, fills the silence as your lips move against his, hand curled up against his collar.
“Okay, new question,” he breaks apart before he loses all of his senses and pulls you into a bathroom stall.
You chuckle against his lips. “Yeah?”
“What would you think about getting a dog?”
“A dog?” You blink up at him.
“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be very big – there’s no room in our brownstone for the three of us anyway.”
You frown playfully, contemplative, as you loop your arm through his, the bear stretched across both your backs, as you instinctively wander towards the water.
“I’ve always liked pitbulls. Found them to be really misunderstood.”
He nods. “I like that. Kind of flies in the face of the ‘small dog’ idea but I like it.”
“When have we ever not bucked tradition?”
“You’re exactly right, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your cheek as you list off other potential breeds.
Honestly, he doesn’t care. Whatever dog breed you want is fine with him.
As long as it has a collar and a name tag, somewhere he can hang a ring.
T H E E N D
#dieter bravo x reader#recovery road#what do you mean im supposed to say something???#im dead#you killed me#there are no words left#.....#......anyway#THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL#I CRIED THREE TIMES OUTRIGHT SOBBED AT THE SCENE IN THE BROWNSTONE DEFINITELY SHED 6 TEARS WHEN BEA WAS INTRODUCED#LOST ALL OF MY SHIT FOR MARIE#AND HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN AND BREATHE SO I WOULDNT SOB HYSTERICALLY AFTER THAT SPEECH#HOW DARE YOU PUT THAT SPEECH#you know what im not even gonna TRY to explain in words what you did to my heart with this series like????#just?????#i have no words honestly#it was beautiful heart wrenching and absolutely fucking terrifying because i FELT the what if love is not enough part just before the end#and when i tell you IT BROKE ME im not even exaggerating a little#this literally changed me as a person and i simultaneously wanna tackle you into a gigantic hug and also never speak to you again#yes they have a dog and a plethora of stuffed animals and netflix can go fck itself and im gonne be sobbing about this for the next 10 years#you ever read a series so good you put off reading the last part so long cause YOU DONT WANT IT TO END???#no???#WELL READ THIS THEN#jehshdgdgs#taylor i love you but also dont talk to me im fragile#and also never stop writing because i will personally BREAK DOWN YOUR DOOR and shake your bones#forever screaming#SOMEBODY HOLD ME IM FALLING APART#and talk to me about that speech because SHIT#hevsvsgwgsgegs ok bye now im dead
43 notes
·
View notes